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FEASEKS MAGAZINE 






NEW SERIES. VOL XII. 



JULY TO DECEMBEK 1876 



aw 



LONDON 
LONGMANS, GBEEN, AND CO. 

PATEBN08TER BOW 



FEASER'S MAGAZINE 



JULY 1875. 



OUR FUTURE ARMY. 



] Parliamentary session of 

[875, now drawing to an end, 

rtainly not made a name for 

bj any notable legislation. 

is, however, one subject 

has been thoroughly ven- 
I, both in and outside St. 
en's, since February last, and 

which during the coming 

we may hope to see public 
m still more openly expressed, 
e who reads the papers, and 
lotes even in the most cursory 
2r the passing events of the 
[»n have failed to convince 
If of three facts — first, that 
»e is arming ; secondly, that 
English army is not what it 
to be ; thirdly, that we must 
nething, and that something 
be done quickly, if we are to 
idy either to defend these 
, in the event of an invasion, 
maintain our prestige on the 
lent should certain contin- 
s force us to do so. What 
^ht to do, what must be done, 
ow we are to do it are con- 
dons involving controversies 

can only do good. As yet 
[g like a clear and defined 
n either as to our military 
omings, or the best way of 
ying them, has been formed, 
here are few thinking men 
ire not convinced that, as 
red to what it ought to be, 
rmy is as a wooden ship of 



thirty years ago to one of the iron- 
clads which now form the fleets of 
every navy in the world ; and that 
our whole national energy should 
be bent upon forming an army of 
the future which would, humanly 
speaking, be equal to any work it 
might be called upon to perform. 

And first as regards our army 
in its present condition. Without 
going into the elaborate statistics 
that are annually set forth by the 
Secretary of State for War — sta- 
tistics which leave us more in the 
dark than we were before reading 
them, and which, by puttinj? down 
as part of our effective land forces 
troops that are serving in India, if 
they do not assert what is actually 
flEklse, certainly do much in econo- 
mising the truth — let us allude as 
the nearest approach to the naked 
truth, to part of a speech made not 
long ago in the House of Commons 
by Lord Elcho.^ That the speech 
was what the French call an acte 
d^accitsatlon of our whole military 
system we are quite prepared to 
admit. But that his Lordship's 
figures and calculations were sub- 
stantially correct no military man 
has as yet denied; and, what is 
still more to the purpose, the at- 
tempts that have been made by a 
Certain portion of the press to con- 
trovert his speech must satisfy im- 
partial minds that his statements 
were well founded. Mr. Gathorno 



* See Parliamentary/ Reports, April 23, i&75« 

xn. — NO. Lxvn. new series. 



B 2 



Our Future Army. 



[Jtdy 



Hardy's laboured defence of the 
j^resent state of things in onr army ^ 
reads well, and is admirably suited 
as a text-book for those who prefer 
making light of any danger that 
is not close at hand to the trouble 
and worry of change or reform. 

In the Army Estimates for the 
present year, as brought before the 
House of Commons on March 8,^ 
we are shown on paper that Eng- 
land has at the present moment an 
army of 106,278 men, with 372 
guns, exclusive of those on colonial 
duty. Of the former, according to 
the same authority, there are 43,730 
rank and file of infantry, with their 
regiments, and 7,100 with the bri- 
gade dep6te. But after subtracting 
the lads under twenty years of age, 
who cannot be considered, from their 
youth, as fit for hard work in the 
field, and who in any other coun- 
try in Europe would be put under 
the head of 'conscripts' or recruite ; 
and after deducting for sick, pri- 
soners, men wanting to complete, and 
— what is a very large item indeed at 
the present day — deserters, the num- 
ber of effective bayonets in England 
dwindles down to 30,272. In other 
words, we could place in line a 
force about one-fourth less than a 
single Grerman army corps, of which 
that country has, besides all her 
reserves, no less than sixteen at the 
present day. If we turn to our 
cavalry, a still greater contrast be- 
tween our forces and those of other 
countries presente iteelf. Exclusive 
of the mounted regiments serving in 
India we have seventeen corps, or 
including the three regiments of 
Household troops, twenty regimente 
serving in the United Kingdom. Of 
these few, if any, could bring into 
the field more than 250 effective 
men and horses. This would give 
us a total of 5,000 cavalry, scat- 



tered over England and Ireland, or 
some 900 short of what is to be 
found in each German army corps. 
The most serious deficiency in these 
days, when battles are won by 
those who have the most efiTectiva 
and quickest served artillery, is the 
paucity of the number of guns we 
could take into the field. In the 
Army Estimates we are told that we 
have 372 pieces of field artillery. 
But Lord Elcho proved beyond all 
doubt, in the speech to which we 
have already referred, that, as we 
have no artillery reserve — the war 
strength of a foot battery is 204 men 
and 184 horses, and that of a horse 
battery 192 men and 192 horses — 
we could not with our present artil- 
lery resources, or rather with our 
utter want of them, take into the 
field more than 120 guns. Thus, 
supposing that we drain the whole 
kingdom of every effective soldier, 
we should be able to commence a 
campaign abroad, or to defend the 
shores of England, Ireland, and 
Scotland, with a force of, say, 5,250 
cavalry, 30,272 infanitry, and 120 
guns; or, as we said before, an 
army just aboiit equal in numbers 
to one of the sixteen army corps 
into which the land forces of Grer- 
many are at this moment divided.^ 
Many persons — ^we might say 
most civilians — in England have a 
sort of hazy, undefined idea that 
there existe somewhere or oHher a 
body of men called the Armj Re- 
serves, and that when, if ever, the 
day of trouble comes upon us, we 
should only have to draw upon these 
reserves, as a wealthy man might do 
on the unemployed funds at his 
banker's, and thus the strength of 
our regimente would thenceforth 
be more than sufficient to compete 
with any known enemy. But when 
we come to facte matters look some- 



• See Parliamentary Beporta, April 23, 1875. 

• See Parliamentary Reports, March 9. 

• The German army consists now of sixteen army corps of 40,000 each, every eyrpB 
complete in itself as to cavaliy, infantry, aitilleiy, pontoons, oommiasariat, and with 
three guns per 1,000 men. See Berlin coir^^^orndtaL o£ TimeSf February 10, 1875. 



1 



Our Future Arviy. 



^ 



diflPerent. The army reserves, 
g aside pensioners, number on 
' little more than 7,000 men ; 
3f these it is well known in 
irvice that more than one-half, if 
ed for duty, would be returned 
Dt forthcoming. As for our 
a, the men have, no doubt, in 

the making of excellent sol- 

but they have as yet neither 
hysical stamina nor the train- 
) take the field in a campaign, 
b would require at least eight 
n months* continual drill and 
ck discipline to make them 
hurtful to their enemies than 
would now be to their friends, 
much for the numbers or the 
bity of our present army. Let 
w briefly consider the quality 
p troops. 

e oflBcial figures, as published 
le War OlSce, state that the 
ge age of recruits enlisted 
g the last twelve months for 
ifantry of the Line is 19 years 
1^ months. But what do these 
}s mean ? Every military man 
s full well that the recorded age 
recruit is exactly what the re- 
chooses to state. The autho- 

have no means whatever of 
ing the accuracy of what he 
If the lad is a likely-lookiug 
Ldual and is free from any com- 
b or deformity which would 
sr the surgeon from passing? 
[le is only too welcome first to 
•ecruiting sergeant and after- 
3 to the colonel who is anxious 
up his ranks. The recruiting 
int, anxious not to lose the i/. 
I he receives for each recruit that 
5, is interested in getting the 
be enlists through the ordeal. 
3 recruit looks very young, it 
ygested to him that if he is 
' eighteen years of age he will 
pass, and the latter makes 
3 pleasant for all parties by 
iing he is eighteen, even if 

two or three years younger, 
best judges as to whether a 
it is fit for the work before 



him are the officers whose command 
he will be under. Since the 
commencement of the present year 
the War Office issued a sort of 
circular questioning the command- 
ing officei*s of regiments whether 
they were satisfied with the quality 
of the recruits that had joined them. 
The paper was sent to 136 colonels 
or majors commanding regiments 
or depots. Of these 32 declared 
themselves positively dissatisfied ; 
26 said they were fairly satisfied; 
and the remaining 78 merely 
pronounced themselves satisfied. 
When we remember how anxious as 
a rule military men are not to make 
things unpleasant with the autho- 
rities, these replies may be regarded 
as speaking volumes. 

But even this is not the worst fea- 
ture of our army as it exists at 
present. Of the desertions from re- 
gplments it would be needless to speak 
at length, for almost every paper we 
take up records one or more cases 
of the kind. At one time, within 
the last twelve months, the number 
of deserters confined in one prison 
alone was equal to the strength of 
a battalion. The Police Gazette is 
full of advertisements stating that 
soldiers — mostly recruits — have 
deserted from nearly every regiment 
in the service. Many of these do 
not content themselves with one, 
or even two desertions, but enlist 
and re-enlist again, until they are 
found out and punished ; when it is 
more than likely they come out of 
gaol and again find their way to 
the recruiting sergeant's haunts. 
In an infantry regiment serving in 
India a soldier was not long ago 
discovered who had, at ditferent 
times within the space of about 
three years, enlisted in, and deserted 
from, no fewer than seven different 
corps. 

Briefly, very briefly, told, the 
above are the present features that 
distinguish our army, and this at a 
time when every Power in Europe 
is setting its house in order as 



Our Future Army, 



[July 



regards military matters. To 
repeat a simile we have used 
before, we are as far behind other 
nations in military matters as we 
would be in our navy had we still 
no vessels but those of wood. To 
quote the words of a well-known 
military paper : 

Everyone in the least conversant with 
the organisation of the Kussian, the 
German, the Austrian, or the French 
armies must have long ago perceived that, 
if for no other reason, our (irmy is nume- 
rically too insignificant even to turn the 
scale in any Continental war ; yet no pro- 
position for its increase has emanated ^om 
the War Office. The merest tyro in the 
study of modern military history has long 
known that in the rapid wars of the pre- 
sent day the advantage of the power of 
the offensive has been in an enormous 
degree developed. Yet we still not only 
have no striking force, but seem to 
have no idea of instituting such a force. 
The army of Great Britain, at home is at 
present out a depot for the relief of the 
garrisons in India and the colonies. With' 
out the least exaggeration we may say that 
we possess no army for European warfare. 
The militia is not available for foreign 
service ; yet it would not require a magi- 
cian to evolve from that force a formidable 
instrument for a campaign within a mode- 
rate distance of our sliores. The volun- 
teers have been entirely overlooked ; yet 
their raw material is excellent, and from 
them, too, might bo obtained more than 
the mere possibility of being called out 
when an enemy had already landed. The 
most sure guarantee against being invaded 
is the possession of the power of invading. 
How would Germany have fared in the 
L\st war if she had been content to stand on 
the defensive, and to draw up a cordon of 
citizen soldiers on the Elbe or the Weser? 
It is well known that the centralisation of 
our military system is most baneful ; yet 
no steps are being taken to decentralise 
tlio cumbrous mjichinery of the War 
Office, and to institute some method of 
rapid mobilisation. It is not even yet 
known how many troops could by rail- 
way be concentrated within a given time 
at a certain point. Our armament of the 
artillery is objected to by very many well 
able to form an excellent opinion. The 
arm placed in the hands of the infantry is 
openly cavilled against as inferior to that 
adopted by foreign Powers. The general 
opinion of those most qualified to judge is 



that horses for ne'.ther the requisite amount 
of cavalry nor the absolutely necessary 
quantity of transport could be collected 
without such a loss of time as would 
render the collection of animals totally 
unnecessary.^ 

In the above quotation the italics 
are our own. We commend every 
line in it to the careful consideration 
of those who believe our military 
system to be something little short 
of perfection, merely adding, by way 
of comment, that the well-known 
and very ably conducted paper from 
which it is taken is looked upon as 
the leading military journal of the 
day, as the organ of the best men 
amongst the officers in the service, 
and in a very considerable measure 
as the mouthpiece of H.R.H. the 
Duke of Cambridge, the commander- 
in-chief of the English army. 
Moreover, we are quite certain that 
every word it contains would find 
a ready echo of assent at every 
mess-table in the kingdom, in India, 
or in our colonies. ' The most sure 
guarantee against being invaded is 
the possession of the power of in- 
vading.' In these words of the 
foregoing extract is contained the 
first and chief consideration on 
which our future army ought to be 
founded. 

But there is a part of our 
subject which ought not to be 
forgotten ; it is this : As regards 
military matters England is in one 
respect unlike all other countries. 
Our immense Indian Empire, and 
our scattered and very extensive 
colonies, require, so to speak, an 
army for themselves. The soldier 
who serves at home may dislike to 
do so abroad, and vice versa. In 
any case, as the conditions of home 
and colonial service are essentially 
different, they ought to be kept 
apart. In a word, we ought for the 
future to have two armies, the one 
for service in England — and should 
a war in which we had to take part 



* Army and Navy Gasette, April 17, 1875. 



Our Future Army. 



ont in Europe, liable to be 
n the Continent — the other 
lia and the colonies. Of these 
tt US first consider our home 

iie spring of the present year 
appeared a very remarl^ble 
ilet, upon the subject of which 
)poBe to treat. The writer of 
vchure is Captain H. W. L. 
of the Royal Artillery, who 
ook his task as a competitor 

prize offered by the IJnited 
3 Institution on the subject 
miting for the Army.® This 
work is remarkable in more 
han one. It gives a concise 
jry good account of the re- 
g service in England for the 
ndred years ; and the author 
Uy demonstrates how the 
ossible road out of our pre- 
Lfficulties is that of adopting 
item which in all other Euro- 
ountries has become a recog- 
nstitution — namely, univeraal 
ption. 
lis view we entirely coincide. 

impossible for any reason - 
lan to read the newspapers 
present day, or to mark the 
I discussions in and out of 
aent, without coming to the 
ble conclusion that our Eng- 
jtem of voluntary enlistment 
king down more and more 
'ear, and that if things go on 
ttle longer at the same rate 
; collapse altogether. 

can the authorities be 
I for not trying new schemes 
ir attempts to keep up the 
;h of the army. Long ser- 
ad short service; compara- 
ligh bounties and no bounties 

rewards for good conduct; 
pes of promotion to commis- 

good feeding ; improved 
g; gratuitous education for 
B, and the same for the 



children of soldiers; a regular 
system of rewards for good conduct ; 
these and a score of other reforms 
have one after another been tried, 
and have been found of little or no 
avail in filling our ranks. There 
never was, in the history of the 
British army, a period when our 
soldiers were as well treated as 
they are now ; and there never was 
a time when recruits were so diffi- 
cult to get, and desertions from our 
regiments so numerous. In Mr. 
Clode's Military Forces of the Crown, 
a veiy valuable work, from which 
Captain Hime, in the prize essay 
we have mentioned before, quotes 
freely, it is stated that in 1 718 the 
barracks and barrack farniture of 
the Foot Guards cost an average of 
less than 12L per man, whereas at 
the present day they cost not less 
than 225Z. a man.'^ Nor can any- 
one who was acquainted with the 
interior economy of the service, 
even so late as twenty years ago, 
fail to be impressed with the won- 
derful change for the better that 
has taken place in the food, the 
bedding, the amusements provided 
for the men, and all that concerns 
the soldier either in barracks or 
camp. And yet, as any regimental 
officer will say, the quality- of the 
men has greatly deteriorated, it is 
every year becoming more and more 
difficult to fill our ranks, and deser- 
tions were never so numerous as 
they are at present. 

For actual home work — for that 
work which in foreign countries is 
performed by the troops, but in 
England falls to the lot of the 
police — we have, thank Grod, little 
or no use. It is only in extreme 
cases, and even then more as a 
precaution than even as a threat, 
that our soldiers are ever called 
upon to quell riots or subdue 
mobs. Bat no man of sense and 



xrsal Conscription^ the only Anstoer to the Recruiting Question. 
'ime, R.A. Ix)ndon, Mitchell and Son, Charing Cross, 1875. 
«*8 Military Forces of the Crown, chap. xi. 



By Capt. H- 



6 



Ofir Future Army, 



[Jaly 



observation can deny that we do 
want, and are daily more and 
more in want of, that 'sore gua- 
rantee' against invasion which 
alone can secure ns from the most 
disastrous panics when the day of 
trial comes. England has always 
been most reluctant to enter upon 
war, but in these times who can 
tell, not what a year, but what a 
month, or even a week, may bring 
forth ? And if we were found want- 
ing at such a time, where should we 
be? 

It is easy to talk largely of 
conscription being an abandon- 
ment of our liberties; but does 
not every man, under certain condi- 
tions, owe to his country the debt of 
having to defend his native land ? 
Our home army ought to consist of 
at least 200,000 men, under training 
for one year. There ought to be no 
longer any distinction between re- 
gulars, militia, and volunteers. 
Every man in England, no matter 
what his rank or occupation, 
ought to serve for twelve months 
in the first line, and afterwards to 
be called out, as the first reserve, for 
a month every year, and be obliged 
to take up arms at a minute's 
notice if called upon. A vicarious 
army, in which the man who can 
afford to purchase a substitute is 
allowed to do so, is perhaps the 
worst, as it certainly is a greater, 
sham than even the voluntary 
system. Of this we have a sad 
lesson in the unbroken series of de- 
feats of the French army during the 
late war. The scheme of systematic 
purchase of substitutes was only 
fully introduced into that service 
about 1855, and fifteen years later 
the army was ruined beyond re- 
demption.® The blunders of our 
neighbours ought to serve as warn- 
ings, just as the successes of the 
Germans should be an example 



to us. Our home army onght to 
be a national force, a truly British 
army. As Professor Cairns very 
truly says in his Political Essays — 
another work of which Captain 
Hime has largely availed himself in 
his prize essay — 

The capital fact of the case is that the 
method of war&re has been changed. The 
struggle has been transferred from standing 
armies to armed populations ; and until 
we recognise this fact, and adapt our 
defence to the altered circumstances, our 
position cannot be otherwise than pre- 
carious It may be that war- 
fare carried on by entire populations is 
'essentially retrograde;* but retrograde 
or not, this f^ the danger against which 
we have to provide. And it seems 
to me that there would be as b'ttle solace 
to our dignity as compensation for our 
suffering, on finding ourselves the victims 
of combinations we might easily havo 
foreseen, to reflect that we had only made 
our preparations against more civilised 
methods of attack.' " 

If the learned author of these 
lines had been, as the writer of 
this paper was, in Germany when 
war was proclaimed, he would 
have been able to illustrate 
his words with what was to be 
seen every day, and several 
times in each day. Young men 
who had been clerks in ofiices in 
London, Leeds, Liverpool, Man* 
Chester, Paris, Milan, and every 
city where trade or business exists, 
kept arriving by each train at the 
head-quarters of their divisions or 
army corps to which they belonged. 
There was no disorder, no confusion. 
No matter what distance they had 
come from — and many thousands 
came even fix)m the far West of 
Americar-eyeryman knew his place, 
and at once took that place in the 
brigade, the regiment, iJie squadron, 
or the company to which he be- 
long^. The German army wa.<i 
indeed ' an armed population.' 
Our own Foot Guards, when return- 



■ See Trochu's L*Armee fran^aise en 1867, ^i^d Let InsHtiitiont militaircs de la France, 
by H.R.H. the Duke d'Aumale. 
• JSeo Professor Cairns* Political Eaaays, p. 219. 



1875] 



Our Fuiwre Army. 



ing to their barracks from a stroll in 
London, are not better acquainted 
with the exact place they will have 
to stand in at the next parade than 
was the banker's clerk who came 
from New York or Chicago to join 
his corps at Coblentz, Cologne, or 
Mannheim, so perfect were all the 
most minute details of the service. 
In a recent speech in the House of 
Commons Lord Elcho deprecated 
the idea of * Prussianising * the 
English army, but it would be well 
if his lordship had at the same 
time pointed out some other military 
system as complete in itself, and 
which can be so effectually enlarged 
upon any given emergency. 

There is, however, another con- 
sideration on the subject of conscrip- 
tion as being superior to voluntary 
enlistment for a national army, which 
we will quote also from Professor 
Cairns before dismissing this part 
of our subject. The italics are our 
own : 

*In very truth,' he says, *it signifies 
little whether our present method of re- 
cruiting be effectual or not; for were we 
thus to obtain an army numerous enough 
for our purpose, the expense of such a 
force, maintained on the principle of a 
standing army of the English pattern, 
would be simply ruinous. Our entire re- 
venue applied exclusively to military 'pur- 
poses vxyuld not suffice for the drain^ and 
we might as well be crushed at once by 
the enemy as ruined by the slow torture of 
the tax-gatherer. And I venture to go 
further still. Even though the needful 
force could thus be raised, and the means 
of supporting it were forthcoming, what 
just cmijidencc could be placed in- an in- 
strument of tfie quality which alone such a 
process could give usl The system re- 
maining the same, the character of the 
men composing one army would continue 
to be what it now is ; and we should thus, 
in the resort, have to stake our national 
existence on a struggle on which the pro- 
l^taires and the pariahs of our community 
would be matched against the average 
citizens of other States.'*® 

With practical men the question 
will naturally arise whether nni- 



Torsal conscription would ever be 
accepted by the English people, to 
say nothing as to whether it would 
ever be voted by Parliament. We 
not only believe that it would be 
accepted, but that, if fairly enacted 
and fairly carried out, it would 
become most popular, and would 
raise the character of the army from 
what it is now in the eyes of but 
too many of our countrymen to 
that of a national institution to 
which every man worthy of the 
name of Englishman would be 
proud to belong. Greater changes 
than this — much greater variance 
from our long-established notions — 
have not only been accepted in 
this country, but have become ex- 
ceedingly popular. Who twenty 
years ago would have thought that it 
would ever be practicable to raise 
in every city and town and borough 
corps of volunteers, in which lie 
small shopkeeper, the artisan, and 
the labourer would stand shoulder to 
shoulder with the well-to-do classes, 
wear the same uniform, submit to 
the same drill, and be subject to 
the same rebukes from their superior 
oflBcers ? Or what officer who 
served even a dozen years ago in 
the army would then have thought 
that the purchase system could ever 
have been abolished ? Englishmen 
are perhaps slow to be convinced of 
the necessity for any radical change ; 
but, when once convinced, no people 
in the world are more ready or 
willing to work out a reform. Be- 
sides, it ought not to be forgotten 
that in the national army for home 
such as we propose the two great 
evils which the English recruit fears, 
and which the English soldier hates 
most, would no longer exist. There 
would be no Indian or colonial ser- 
vice, and the time which the con- 
scripts would actually have to serve 
in the ranks in time of peace, the 
barrack life they would have to 
endure, would be limited to one year. 



** Political Essays, pp. 222, 223. 



8 



Our Future Army, 



[July 



Nor would there be any great hard- 
ship in any young man of twenty- 
one or twenty- two years of age, and 
in good health, sabmittingfor twelve 
months to the discipline and petty 
annoyances of the barrack yard. 
At the present day there are 
thousands of well-bom and irently 

voluntarily undergo much greater 
privations as sportsmen, travellers 
by land and sea, and as colonists of 
various kinds. 

Many military men would 
strongly object to the period of 
service in what may be called the 
first line being limited to one year, 
and would declare that it was im- 
possible to make an average recruit 
into a good soldier in that time. In 
the prize essay to which we have 
before referred Captain Hime 
anticipates this difficulty, and meets 
it in the following way : 

We have no experience whatever in 
the matter. Our experience is entirely 
confined to the lowest and worst members 
of the community soldiers. If they cun 
he made soldiers in two years, there is no 
reason to believe that conscripts repre- 
senting the whole mass of our population 
could not be made efficient in one year. The 
discipline would have to be rigid, no doubt, 
and the drill never-ending; but if the 
system were carried out vnth a will, no 
sane man can doubt its ultimate success.'" 

In a minor degree we no doubt 
have his opinion confirmed by what 
we see every day in the volunteer 
corps, as well as in the fact that 
young officers who join a regiment 
are taught their duty in a much 
shorter time than the recruits. 
With educated, or even partly 
educated, men there can be no 
doubt that it is infinitely easier 
to inculcate military teaching than 
with average recruits. In our pre- 
sent army, excepting, perhaps, the 
Household brigade, ignorance is 
the rule and education the excep- 
tion. With an army of men raised 
from all ranks and degrees of 



society the reverse would be the 
case. 

To enter into all the minute de- 
tails of our future army would be 
useless, as well as foreign to our 
present intentions ; but as an out- 
line of the scheme we propose for 
the home army we may glance at 
one or two of what would probably 
be the conditions of the service 
under the new scheme. 

Let us suppose that, at the age 
of twenty-one, a young man joins 
the regiment to which he is to be 
attached, and remains with it a foil 
year. It may be that he takes a 
liking to the work, and that instead 
of returning home at the end of the 
twelve months elects to remain in 
the ranks. That many will do so 
there can be but little doubt; and as 
it must be from those individuals 
that non-commissioned officers will 
be selected, so it ought to be that to 
them, and only to them, commissioDS 
ought to be granted, once the system 
is fully at work. But suppose that 
our conscript does not remain in 
the army — suppose that, at the end 
of the year, he returns — as the im- 
mense majority no doubt will re- 
turn — to his home and his civilian 
occupations. He will then form part 
of the first reserve. For eight 
years he will be called out for a 
month every year. He will go into 
camp or barracks, and there repeat 
the lessons he learnt when in the 
ranks as a recruit. He will, like 
the German soldier, know the divi- 
sion, brigade, regiment, and com- 
pany to which he belongs, and in 
the event of war will be able at 
once to take his place in the corps 
to which he belongs ; and as all 
corps will be mobilised in the vi- 
cinity of their own home, he will 
never be far from his family. After 
thirty years of age, supposing him 
to have joined his first regiment 
when he was twenty-one years of 
age, he will belong to the second 



" Prize Essay on the Recruiting Question, by Capt. Ilime, R.A., p. 31. 



1876] 



Our Future Army, 



reserve, be only liable to be called 
out for a week in every year, or in 
the event of the country being in- 
vaded. When forty years of age 
he will be entirely free of the ser- 
vice, and not liable to be called out 
at all. Surely in this there is no 
great amount of hardship. We are 
told that Englishmen would never 
submit to even this much of com- 
pulsory service. But are we, then, 
less patriotic or less loyal than our 
Canadian cousins ? They are Eng- 
lishmen like ourselves, and yet 
they submit to universal liability to 
military service, and that, too, for 
a much longer period than that we 
have indicated above. 

But the word conscription may 
be misunderstood. By it we most 
certainly do not mean the system 
prevalent in France until after the 
late war. No man, be he peer or 
. peasant, ought to be exempt from 
military service because he can 
afford to pay for a substitute. To 
enact such a law would be as if, 
when chauging our fleet from 
wooden ta armour-covered vessels, 
we had given them an out-er coating 
of tin instead of one of iron. The 
French army during the later 
days of the Empire was what may 
be called a vicarious army, and as 
SQch was composed in a great mea- 
sure of far worse characters than if 
it had been enlisted by voluntary 
means, as are our own land forces. 
To a system which would compel the 
man who cannot raise enough to 
buy a substitute to serve, but would 
exempt all those who have a certain 
balance at their banker's, we are 
certainly of opinion that English- 
men would never submit. It would, 
however, be very different if military 
service were made universal, and 
if nothing but sickness or physical 
defects would exempt a man from 
paying the debt of serving his 
country. 

Nor can it be denied that gra- 



dually, if slowly, the country at 
large is coming to this opinion. A 
year ago anyone who advocated 
such a measure would have been 
deemed little short of a lunatic. 
Now even military men are not 
ashamed to confess that, whatever 
might be said against the scheme, 
it is the only plan by which we shall 
ever be able to have a national home 
army which shall be equal to any 
emergency. 

In the essay we have already more 
than once noticed Captain Hime 
devotes a few, very few, lines to 
what he considers ought to be the 
practical means of carrying out uni- 
versal conscription. 

Conscription would bo tried as an ex- 
periment under chosen officers and non- 
commissioned officers the first year — say 
1877. Conscription would be again expe- 
rimentally tried in 1878, 10,000 conscripts 
only being called out the first year, and 
20,000 the second.* " 

This, however, belongs more to 
details which are a matter of after 
consideration, than to the main part 
of our subject, — what our army of 
the future ought to be. 

But supposing that universal con- 
scription, or rather universal liabi- 
lity to military service, becomes law 
in England, our difficulties will be 
but half over unless the authorities 
agree to carry out the whole system 
of substituting at home a national 
army for one which is composed of 
volunteers. A great deal of non- 
sense has been written, and more 
has been said, about raising tho 
militia to become what is really re- 
quired in our army of the future. 
It is all very well for country papers 
to praise this force ; and no doubt, in 
a general way — more particularly 
considering the difficulties it has to 
contend with — it deserves all that 
can be said in its favour ; but it is 
not with a force like this, nor with 
men disciplined as these are, that 
we can And that ' sure guarantee 



" JWrc Essap, by Capt. Hime, K.A., p. 31. 



10 



Our FuUare Army. 



[Jn 



'•I 



against invasion which onght to 
form the object of our national am- 
bition. No merely local force can ever 
form a national army. In our army 
of the future our first line of con- 
scripts — the men who are under 
arms for a year — might with ad- 
vantage be brought as much as 
possible from the same county or 
town into the same regiment or 
brigade. Our Highland, our Irish, 
and the few English regiments that 
have local traditibns about them 
have always done well — have, if 
possible, done better than the others 
who had no local name. But it 
would be a great mistake to confine 
those corps to service in their own 
counties. The Lincolnshire bri- 
gade, or the regiment whose ranks 
are filled by Lincolnshire men, ought 
not to be quartered in the county 
of Lincoln. That they, like the 
Welsh Fusiliers, the Gordon High- 
landers, or the Royal Irish, should 
preserve their distinction, and that 
men from the same locality should 
be broQght as much together as 
possible, would be in every way ad- 
vantageous to the service ; but we 
are of opinion that local service — 
that is, the quartering of regiments 
in the towns or counties where they 
were raised — would be a very great 
mistake. 

How our army of the future ought 
to be officered is no doubt a question 
of grave consideration. And here 
it may not be out of place to remind 
our readers that the country owes 
a deep debt of gratitude to Mr. 
Gladstone for having got rid of 
that national disgrace, and canker- 
worm of our army, promotion by 
purchase. As yet justice bas not 
been done those who, in the face 
of so many difficulties, carried a 
measure without which no reform 
of our many military evils could 
ever have been effective. The 
abolition of the purchase system 
has no doubt cleared the way for 
the establishment of a national 
army which would be able to com- 



pete with any enemy that mig 
be brought against it in time 
war, and which would not cost t 
country so much as the prese 
army in times of peace. The systc 
now practised of open examinatic 
for the junior rank in the am 
and the plan of making that tai 
as it were, probationary to the o 
of lieutenant, — as well as prol 
tionary to remaining at all 
the service, — are certainly to 
praised, and it is very doubt 
whether they could be improv 
upon. But with a really natioi 
army an additional condition ou^ 
to be insisted upon. The candidi 
for a commission, like tlie r 
of • his countrymen, ought to 
obliged to spend a year in i 
ranks of the army. When he 1 
gone through that ordeal, and c 
pass the required examination, 
ought to be promoted as a mati 
of course to the grade of sr 
lieutenant, and the term of I 
probation for the rank of he 
tenant ought to be shorter than 
is now. For higher promotion 
from lieutenant to captain, fro 
captain to major, and from maj 
to lieutenant-colonel — there is htl 
or no fault to be found with t 
present system of promotion, whi' 
is partly by choice, but chiefly 1 
seniority. In the commission 
ranks it would be difficult to mai 
tain officers belonging to any p 
ticular town or country with t 
men raised in those localities. A 
yet when and where it could 
done, the advantage to the servi 
would be immense. All who ha 
served in the army know how mu 
better Scotch and Irish soldiers « 
commanded by officers who t 
their own countrymen than 
those who come from parts of 1 
country unknown to those un( 
them. 

An essential feature in our ar 
of the future ought to be 1 
dividing of that force into a cert 
number of amy corps, each st 



Our Future Army. 



11 



ike those of Germany — and 
)se of France latterly — to be 
te in itself in every respect. 
les of peace the numerical 
t.h of these corps would be 
ratively small ; but with uni- 
liabHity to military service, 
tth the great and most essen- 
itnre of the German system, 
if every man who is not 
Y serving knowing exactly 
ny corps, the division, the 
J, the regiment, the troop or 
ly, and the very squad of 
>op or company, to which he 
belong if called upon to take 
he increase of our army by 
ids ajid tens of thousands is 
) affair of a few days. What 
•uin of our service at present, 
tat was the ruin of the French 
until after the war, is the 
isation of everything at the 
Office of the capital. The 
isation ought to be by army 
We are not living in the 
hen weeks, and even months, 
;iven in which to organise an 
ion. If we can get a few 
or at most a few days, in 
to make everything ready, 
;ht to consider ourselves ex- 
f fortunate. Let us suppose 
le United Elingdom is so 
I for military purposes as to 
le head-quarters of an army 
Q London ; a second at Ports- 
; a third at Harwich ; a fourth 
diff or Bristol; a fifth at 
>ol or Manchester ; a sixth at 
5tle-on-Tyne ; a seventh at 
rgh; an eighth at Dundee; 
on the west coast of Scotland ; 
'enth at Wick ; a twelfth at 
; a thirteenth at Cork; a 
uth at Gal way; and a 
h at Belfast. Let us 
imagine that, according 
rule of universal military 
, each of these corps — which, 
latter of course, would be 
ded into divisions and bri- 
stationed at the different 
or camps in the respective 



districts — during peace times con. 
sisted of only 10,000 men, but 
when the reserves were called out 
could in the course of a few days 
be augmented to four times that 
number. We should then have 
throughout these islands a force 
that would be able to defy any 
enemy, or, what is still better, 
would be able to ensure us that if 
any enemy landed on our shores, 
not a man of them would remain 
alive, save as prisoners. 

It may be urged, with both 
logic and justice, that before we 
can raise such an army as is here 
proposed some two or three years 
must elapse, and that during 
those years the storm which, let 
them say what they like, every 
statesman and thinking man in 
Europe is fearing, may burst upon 
us. To this objection, which is 
certainly well-founded, we reply 
that, as a temporary measure, we 
must raise the pay of our soldiers. 
We must go into the labour market 
and offer able-bodied men who are 
willing to enlist better wages than 
they can get elsewhere. Two, 
three, or even four years of such 
expenditure would not ruin the 
country. And in the meantime 
we should be preparing a permanent, 
lasting, economical system of con- 
scription, which would give genera- 
tions to come that ' sure guarantee ' 
against invasion of which we stand 
so much in need. It is foreign t6 
our purpose to enter here into what 
may be called the political part of 
the question which treats of a 
European war. But this much we 
may say, that unless the signs of 
the times give a very fiilse indi- 
cation as to the future, our day of 
trouble is not yet. We have time 
to prepare for the evil that is coming, 
but not too much time. If we take 
warning before it is too late all will 
yet be well. Let us only remember 
the words more than once quoted 
in this paper: Hhe most sure 
guarantee against being invaded is 



12 



Our Future Army. 



[Jb 



I 



■i 

ii 



the possession of the power of 
invading.' We have no alternative. 
As the French say, * Of two things 
one.' We must either possess this 
* power of invading ' or wait with 
patience, trusting a great deal to 
chance, and the rest to Providence, 
that when the time comes we shall 
— somehow or other, but how we 
cannot exactly say — ^be able to 
repel the invader. And if we 
cannot do that we must be content 
to sink into the rank of a second 
or even of a third-class nation. 

Let us, however, not be misun- 
derstood in the matter of our army 
of the future. Those who serve in 
it ought to be on the same footing 
as the Brigade of Guards is, and 
has been for many years. Our 
home army ought to be free from 
any call to do Indian or colonial 
duty, but should the honour of 
England or the peace of Europe 
demand it, our land forces ought to 
be liable to be sent abroad for the 
duration of a campaign, in the 
same manner that the Guards were 
sent to the Peninsula, to Belgium, 
and to the Crimea. Nor would 
any rule of the kind have the 
slightest influence for evil upon a 
home army raised by universal con- 
scription, but rather the contrary. 
Englishmen have many faults, but 
there is not, and never has been, a 
disposition among them to shirk 
danger and real service. If any 
proof of this were wanting, it 
would be found in the hundreds of 
applications made last year by 
officers, non-commissioned officers, 
and men to join the Ashantee ex- 
pedition. And the same spirit is 
found throughout the army. If 
there was to-morrow an expedi- 
tion about to start for Belgium, 
or Denmark, or any other battle- 
field in Earope, the number of 
volunteers to go with it would be 
counted by thousands. What our 
soldiers dislike, and what is the real 
cause of diBsertion from our ranks, 
is the dread of prolonged Indian or 



colonial service. From such servi 
our home army of the future ong 
to be entirely exempt. 

There remains, however, t 
serious consideration as to he 
India and our colonies are to 
provided with troops sufficient 
ensure the safety of these pro vino 
From the last official reports on t 
condition of India it appears tl 
there are now serving in that g« 
country no less than 60,613 Briti 
soldiers, exclusive of officers. ' 
these we may add some 10,0 
serving in our different coloni< 
making a total of, say, 70,000 m 
that would have to be provid 
over and above our home army. 

It is very certain that nothii 
could be more unfair or more unju 
than to oblige men who entered t 
service by conscription to do du 
in foreign countries for any leng 
of time. And, more than that, it 
very certain that no army recruit 
by the means we advocate won 
endure being sent abroad for 
term of years, to remain on garris( 
duty at Calcutta, or to pass the 
time in moanting guard in Jamais 
or the Mauritius. For this work- 
for our colonial army of the futare- 
we must be content to raise mi 
by voluntary enlistment. And tl 
public would be the gainers, not tl 
losers, by the change firom the pr 
sent system, by which a solaie 
whether he likes it or not, is Hab 
to be sent to any part of the worl 
no matter how he may dread tl 
climate, and remain there as mai 
years as it suits the Government 
keep him in this or that garrison. 

Let us, for instance, take Indi 
Under the present regulations ai 
regiment in the service is liable 
be sent out there. Every offio 
who has served in the East knov 
that until a corps has been at lea 
three years in the country— until tl 
men have not only become climatise 
but have learnt how baneful to the 
health are many things which won 
not hurt them in England it 



Our Future Army. 



13 



I for work in the field. So 
so is this the case that the 
^yemment would never for 
stant think of employing in a 
ign any regiment that had not 
two or three years in the 
ry, unless in the case when 
Uier troops were available. 
9 an English — or, as it is 
I in India, a 'European* — 
snt is fit for service in the 
16 men require to be acclima- 

They — and the officers too 
kt matter — have to learn from 
2SLi experience that exposare 
snn during certain hours, that 
, drinking, or even smoking— 
1 not say in excess, but — as 
as they would at home, is 
i to cause illness, and very 
to cause death. If a corps 
ut to India, at least two- thirds 

men pass once, and more 
lalf pass twice, through the 
al — not a few pass thence to 
•aveyard — before the soldiers 
to take care of themselves 
rm correct ideas as to what 
aght to eat, drink, and avoid. 

this disagreeable novitiate, 
e of griffinhood, as it is called 
dia, is got through, the 
?iit be^ns to be as fit for 
In the East as it would be in 
nd, and improves in this fit- 
7ery year, until when, after 
or ten years, it has just 
d the perfection of usefulness 
vice in India, it is sent to Eng- 
rhere the very men who made 
xcellent soldiers in Bombay, 
1, or Madras are not worth 
alt for home service, and are 
I of as quickly as possible by 
commanding officer. If ever 
vvas a piece of military legis- 
which was so idiotic as to 
men almost suspect that it 
sen dictated by treachery, it 
e rule which, on the amalga- 



mation of the Indian and English 
armies, abolished the gallant local 
European regiments which had done 
such good service in India. 

In the matter of our Eastern 
army we would do well to take a 
leaf out of the book of our neighbours 
the Freuch, as regards their Algerian 
corps. Their Chasseursd'Afriqueand 
their Zouaves might in their organi- 
sation serve as an excellent model 
for our Indian army of the future. 
These regiments serve in Africa and 
nowhere else. They may, in the 
event of war — as was the case in 
the Italian and the Franco- German 
campaigns — be called upon to take 
the field elsewhere, but only for a 
season. So soon as peace is pro- 
claimed they have a right to demand 
being sent back to Algeria. The 
men are nearly all volunteers. The 
officers can exchange with their 
comrades in the Line corps, but as a 
rule it is found that in all ranks 
those who make the best soldiers 
for Algiers are of little or no use 
in home garrisons, and generally 
seek ere long to return to the 
wilder life of Africa. In the ranks 
of these French Algerian corps 
are to be found a class of volunteers 
who shun service in France, but 
who make the very best soldiers 
for the work they have in Africa. 
There are men who have failed in 
life — ^young men of good family 
who have run through their means, 
who cannot dig, who are ashamed 
to beg, and would be almost more 
ashamed to enlist in a regiment 
serving in their native land.*^ As 
a matter of course a certain portion 
of these men go from bad to worse ; 
but as a rale tiiey reform, throw all 
their energies into their new career, 
and after some years obtain com- 
missions in the army. Very few 
years ago there was in the French 
service no fewer than two marshals, 



i present -writer met some years ago in the interior of Algeria a single squadron 
liassenn d*Afriqae, in which there were no fewer than seven men of title serving 
lommissioned officers and privates. 



14. 



Our Future Army, 



[Jn 



six generals of division, ten generals 
of brigade, and some sixty colonels 
who had gone through this ordeal. 

And, although in a lesser degree, 
it was very much the same with 
the old local European regiments 
serving in India. There was a 
much better class of men — there 
were many more men who had re- 
ceived what is commonly called a 
good education — serving in their 
ranks than were to be found in any 
of her Majesty's regiments, except, 
perhaps, in some of the crack cavalry 
corps. Most unfortunately, in the 
Company's service no commissions 
were given to men from the ranks, ex- 
cept in rare instances, after very long 
service, and even then the promo- 
tions were not regimental, but to 
situations connected with the civil 
administration of the service. 

In the Indian army of the future 
the ranks should be filled entirely 
by enlistment. It would not be fair 
or just to compel any man to serve for 
a prolonged period away from his 
own country; and, as we have shown 
above, it takes three years or so to 
acclimatise a soldier and make him 
fit for service in India. For this 
army the men ought to be enlisted 
for at least fifteen years, with the 
prospect of really good pensions 
at the end of that time, and also 
of good pensions if the soldier 
was broken down by sojourning 
in a hot climate. The last issued 
report on the condition of India** 
gives the effective strength of 
the British troops there as 60,6 r3, 
but we question much whether more 
than two-thirds of that number 
could ever be brought together 
under arms. In these figures are 
included the sick in hospital, the in- 
valids waiting for embarkation to 
England, the recruits on their way 
out to the East, and all the nu- 
merous subdivisions which come 



under the head of ^noni^ectiv 
But with prospects of a oomfortal 
pension, and with a liberal scale 
promotion to the commission 
ranks for men fonnd deserving 
such advancement, a much bett 
and consequently a far healthi< 
class of men would be found rea 
and willing to enlist for service 
the East. A good home an 
would never furnish troops for ; 
effective Indian army, nor wob 
the latter ever do efficient service 
England. The climates of Lond' 
and Calcutta are not more differe 
than the work of a soldier in t 
two hemispheres of East and Wej 
In such an army for India as ^ 
have briefly endeavoured to depi( 
the saving to the country, and st 
more to the Government of Ind 
would be very great indeed in one ii 
portant and — at present — excee 
ingly costly item. The oontinii 
transport of troops backwards ai 
forwards to India would be abolishe 
Individual officers and men mig 
come and go, but a regiment oni 
taken out to the East would rema 
there for ever. Therefore it is that 
times of peace, to men of good ch 
racter who have saved 15Z. or 16 
with which they could pay half tl 
expenses of a trip to Europe, fn 
loughs of eight or ten months 
visit their native land might 1 
granted. This would be a new fe 
ture in the discipline of the servic 
although the proposition was fir 
made several years ago by an offio 
of considerable experience in tl 
East.** Nor do we think it won 
work otherwise "than well. M< 
would look forward to a visit homi 
would save money for that purposi 
would be kept from spending the 
pay on drink ; would arrive at the 
native place, as the men of the Roy 
Marines do, with money in the 
pockets, thereby inducing the 



" See * The Army for India,' Pall Mall Gazette, May 3. 

** The late Lieutenant-General Sir Harry Smith, Adjutant-General of H.M.*8 troops 
India, in a private letter to a friend of the writer. 



1875] 



Our Future Army. 



15 



friends and noigbbours to enlist; 
and after a sbort sojourn at home 
would be only too glad to return to 
India and to their occupation of 
soldiering. With an Indian army 
of this kind, and with the 200,000 
native troops of that country pro- 
perly oflBcered, we might bid de- 
fiance to any foe, whether from out- 
side or in India itself, that could 
threaten us. But as our forces are 
at present in the East, with the 
worse than absurd system of what 
is called the Staff Corps, we have 
never been morally, and physically, 
nearly as weak as we are now. This 
is an opinion which every officer 
serving in our Eastern Empire will 
confirm. 

The English army in India may 
be roughly calculated at about one- 
third of our land forces, and the 
regiments serving in the colonies to 
about an eighth of the same.*^ If 
the present system of recruiting is 
confined to the regiments destined 
for service in those lands, the enor- 
mous cost of that system must, 
as a matter of course, be im- 
mensely reduced. Another great 
evil we should in a very great mea- 
sure get rid of is that of desertion. 
According to .the i^por^ of the Royal 
Commission on Desertion^ published 
in 1859 and again in 186 1, the crime 
of desertion is confined almost en- 
tirely to the United Kingdom, to 
Canada, and to our Australian co- 
lonies. In India, in the West 
Indies, and in our Mediterranean 
garrisons they do not amount to 
more than i per 1,000 men per an- 
num ; and in thos6' very countries 
where desertions are many no doubt 
but what obligatory military ser- 
vice could be introduced, as indeed 
it has already been in Canada. 
Serving at home, or serving: in 
countries where, as in our North 
American and Australian colonies, 
work is plentiful and wages high, 
is a very different thing from serv- 



ing in garrisons and lands where 
European unskilled labour is not 
sought for. So different, in fact, 
are they that the army meant for 
the one work would be of little or 
no use for the other. This, how- 
ever, ought not to prevent an ex- 
change of duties between the officers 
of the two forces, any more than in 
France an officer of Zouaves is pre- 
vented from exchanging with an 
officer of the Line, or an officer of 
the Line from being promoted in his 
turn into the Zouaves. In the same 
way if a soldier or non-commissioned 
officer of our home ar;ny wanted 
to volunteer for service in India, he 
ought' to bo allowed to do so ; and 
many of the best men for the army 
of the East or of the colonies would 
be obtained in that way. 

As regards the regiments in- 
tended for service in such of our 
colonies as would not have obliga- 
tory conscription of their own, these- 
corps ought to be raised in England, 
but only for local Colonial service. 
There never was a greater mistake 
than disbanding the Canadian Bifies, 
the Cape Mounted Rifles, and the 
St. Helena Regiment. The men 
of these corps did the work they 
were intended for far better, and 
much cheaper, than regiments of 
the Line, and were not discontented 
with their lot, which they bad 
selected for themselves. With the 
present system, no matter whera a 
Line regiment is stationed, there is 
grumbling and discontent through* 
out the corps, both amongst officers 
and men, at their so-called bard 
fate. Whether in garrison at Malta, 
Madras, or the Mauritius, all ranks 
seem to have a kind of undefined 
notion that they ought to have 
either never been sent out of Eng- 
land, or if sent out, to have garri- 
soned some more agreeable place 
than that where they happen to be. 

There is amougst Englishmen 
of all classes, and perhaps moie 



»• Prize Essay, by Capt. Hime, K.A. 
VOL. XII. — NO. LXVII. KEW SERIES. 



16 



Our Fuivre Army. 



[July 



especially amongst Englisli military 
men, sncli an intense dislike for 
anything like radical changes, that 
no doabt many difficulties, some 
well founded, but others more or 
less pedantic, will be raised against 
our scheme for a future army. 
Amongst others will, no doubt, be 
the objection to altering the num. 
bers, and therefore the traditions, 
of many corps, while certain other 
numbers and names of regiments 
would never bo seen in England 
again, but condemned to hopeless 
service in the Bast or the colonies. 
In our opinion, to make any such 
change would be a blunder of the 
first magnitude. Our present regi- 
ments, both of cavalry and infantry, 
whether numerically strong or 
weak, ought to find a place, one 
and all, in our home army. We 
'Cannot be too careful to maintain 
those regimental traditions, and 
that regimental esprit de corps, which 
is found in no service but our own, 
and which, if once lost, could never be 
replaced at any price. The special 
regiments raised for service in India 
and the colonies would, at a rough 
calculation, amount to six of cavalry, 
each corps to consist of six squadrons 
And some thirty regiments of two 
battalions each. These could easily 
be named and numbered apart from 
the home army. The Indian and 
colonial regiments ought to have 
no dep6ts at home. The men al- 
ways learn their drill far better at 
head-quarters. As a rule dep6ts in 
England are, for various reasons, the 
cause of more desertions than any- 
thing else amongst all our military 
blunders. 

Siich, then, is an outline of the 
scheme we propose for our future 
army. The limits here prescribed 
will not permit us to go more fully 
into details, of which there are, 
no doubt, very many to be con- 
sidered. But, taken as a whole — 
as a mere outline, which is all that 



we pretend for the present to put be- 
fore our readers — wo venture to say 
that the plan will find favour with 
that — ^unfortunately but too small — 
class of men who, whilst they are 
practical in their ideas, dare to look 
to the future and consider what is 
best to be done under changed cir- 
cumstances. Our army estimates 
for the present year amount to 
i4,677,7ooZ., being an increase over 
last year of i92,4ooZ. And for this 
CDormous expenditure we have not 
a force equal to that of any third- 
class European Power. To repeat 
once more a simile we have used 
before, we are in BuUtarjr matters 
as we would have been with our 
navy, had we stuck to oui* wooden 
ships when all the rest of the 
world were building ironclads. 
We have no option left us; a 
thorough and a radical change in 
our whole army is absolutely neces- 
sary, and the sooner it is made the 
safer will our national liberties, our 
standing as a first-rate nation, our 
trade, our credit, and our sense of 
safety be. To quote again a passage 
from Professor Cairns' PoUHccd Fa- 
says, ' The capital fact of the case is, 
that the method of warfare has been 
changed. The struggle has been 
transferred from standing armies to 
armed populations; and until we 
recogDise this fact, and adapt oar 
defence to the altered circum- 
stances, our position cannot be 
otherwise than precarious.* 

During the time that this paper 
has been passing through the press 
the Duke of Cambridge has on 
three several occasions spoken his 
opinions concerning the present 
state of the service, and has virtually 
declared what he believes to be the 
only alternative between an efficient 
and an inefficient army. At the 
Mansion House on the 24th of April,*^' 
in the House of Lords on the 3i8t 
of May,*^ and again at the Man- 
sion House on the 12th of June,*' 



" See Times, April 26. " Ilnd. June i. 



** Ibid. Jane 14. 



1875] 



Our Future Array, 



17 



his E,oyal Highness has shown, 
that, whatever errors he may 
entertain on the subject, he is 
neither blind to the shortcomings 
of the forced he commands nor 
deaf to the popular cry as to the 
utter want of anything like an 
army which could guarantee the 
country from invasion. In the 
first of these speeches the Duke 
praised the stamina he had noticed 
in certain regiments at Alder- 
shot. The optimists of the daily 
press at once took advantage of 
the few words he had spoken, 
and tried their best to prove that 
the army was all that it should, or 
could, be. The consequence of this 
ultra zeal for things as they are, 
was that, from his place in the 
House of Lords, the commander- 
in-chief of the British army was 
obliged, for the sake of truth, to 
explain that he never intended to 
say that the troops were all that 
coald be desired, save in the fact 
that many of those who had lately 
come under his eye were neither 
weak nor sickly men. Again, on 
the 1 2 th of June, at a banquet given 
by the Lord Mayor to the Corpora- 
tion of Trinity House, the Duke 
had to speak to the toast of the 
army, and in doing so told us what 
are his ideas as to the only means 
by which the service can be made 
efficient. His Koyal Highness has 
a simple, if not a very efficient, 
remedy for all our military evils ; 
he says we must pay more, and we 
shall have a better article furnished 
for our use. 

For honesty of purpose, and for 
a long unblemished public career, 
there is not a man in England who 
stands better with his countrymen 
than the royal duke who has for so 
many years been at the head of our 
army. But in asking us to pay 
more for the maintenance of our 
land forces has his Boyal Highness 
ever considered what we already 
spend for the service as compared 
with what other European nations 



do? Is he aware that, according 
to the last army estimates of 
England and the last war budget of 
France, wo pay something under 
fifteen millions sterling for an army, 
of 145,450 men and 14,110 horses; 
whereas the French pay a few 
hundred thousand pounds less, for 
an army of 400,000 men, a reserve 
of 150,000 men, and 105,000 horses ? 
In other words, we pay rather more 
than the French — and theirs is 
proportionately the most expensive 
army on the Continent — for one- 
fourth the number of men and 
about one-seventh the number of 
horses. Facts like these need no 
comment, but they add greatly to 
the strength of our argument that 
if we are ever to have that * sure 
guarantee ' against national humilia- 
tion at home or abroad, our one 
only harbour of refuge is conscrip- 
tion. Is it likely — is it probable or 
possible — that we can ever pay 
higher than we do for our army as 
it is now composed ? 

Those who are doing England 
such a perhaps irreparable injury as 
a portion of the daily press seems 
determined upon effecting, by 
attempting, whenever there is a 
chance, to prove that our army is 
all that it ought to be, should 
get up a little better than they 
do the subject on which they 
write with such fluency. On the 
day but one after the Duke of 
Cambridge's last speech at the 
Mansion House these military 
optimists were in ecstasies at what 
they considered a confirmation, by 
the highest authority on army 
matters, of their views regarding, 
the service. As they had always 
said, the English army was the 
best of all possible armies to be 
found in the best of all possible 
worlds. But in the very same 
issues of these same papers their 
own arguments are confuted by 
themselves. They point with exulta- 
tion to the fact that during the com- 
ing Aldershot manoeuvres no fewer 

c 2 



18 



Our Future Army. 



[July 



tlian 20,000 men will be bronght 
together in the county of Snrrey. 
In other words, by denuding every 
garrison in England of all save the 
men absolutely necessary to carry on 
the daily duties — ^in many instances 
by taking every soldier we have out 
of the towns in which they are quar- 
tered, and in the seaports by leaving 
the Royal Marines to do the whole 
work, theenormous army of no fewer 
than 20,000 men (on paper) will, 
after several weeks of careful 
preparation and anxious consulta- 
tions on the part of the War Office 
authorities, be incorporated in one 
army at a couple of hours' distance 
from the only great camp in 
England. And this is the result of 
the supreme effort made to show 
the public that our land forces 
are a reality and not a myth. Has 
it never occurred to these writers 
that these 20,000 would, in the 
event of an invasion, have to be 
distributed in nearly twenty 
different places? That as it is — 
even supposing, which we must 
doubt, that they could all be brought 
together in reality and not merely 
on paper — they represent exactly 
one-half of a German army 
corps, and that of these army 
corps Germany has no fewer than 
sixteen, each one of 40,000 and 
each one complete in itself, not only 
as to artillery, infantry, and cavalry, 
but in commissariat, intelligence 
department, pontoons, clothing 
department, and all that a force 
can possibly require on the field? 
Even those whose object it seems 
to be not so much to enquire into 
what our army really is as to prove 
that Mr. Cardwell was infallible 
in his opinions when Minister of 
War, must admit that if the day of 
trouble ever really comes u]X)n 
England, an army of twenty, or 
even of forty, thousand men, * all 
told,' would weigh but little in the 
war balance. For the same money 
we pay now, with a system of 
conscription properly organised, 



with — ^as would be the case in a 
very few years — nearly the whole 
nation as a 'reserve force,' we 
ought to be able not only to defy 
any army being landed on these 
shores, but to hold our own on the 
Continent in that great war which 
so many of the ablest men in Europe 
declare is not very far off. 

It would, however, bo unjust 
towards the Dake of Cambridge if 
we did not note how — although 
with extreme caution, and as almost 
afraid to touch on the subject at 
all — he more than once alludes 
to the possibility of conscription 
being the only alternative for the pre- 
sent shortcomings of our military 
system. Public men in England 
have a professional horror of being 
the leaders in any new idea, and 
his Royal Highness has been too 
long in office to transgress this 
unwritten, thoagh very decided, 
law. But we may expect at some 
future day an advocacy of conscrip- 
tion from the Duke. If we read 
his several speeches between the 
lines, his suggestion of a higher pay' 
for a better army may be pixt 
forward as showing how utterly 
impossible it would be to expeixd. 
more than we do upon the service- 
In round figures we no wpay fourteen 
and a half millions for our lajid forcos- 
We require at least four times tt*© 
number of men we bave now under 
arms. Would it be possible for tl»^ 
nation to expend close upon sixty rai ^' 
lions sterling on an army enlisted 0^ 
are our present regiments, or woixl^ 
the country rather adopt a syste^ 
of universal conscription ? This '^ 
the practical way of putting tli^ 
question. The evils of our presents 
system we have under not over* 
stated; for, according to the Duke 
of Cambridge, we ought to pay 
more than we do for what we have 
already got, and we pay now some 
hundreds of thousands more than 
fourteen millions for our army. That 
we should pay four times this 
amount is an alternative so utterly 



1875] 



Our Future Army. 



19 



impossible that it is not worth 
while discussing. 

To conclude, in the words of the 
author from whose pamphlet we 
have already quoted freely, ' con- 
scription may be unwelcome to the 
officers of the army, it may be 
irksome to the poor, and it may be 
hateful to the rich, but conscription 
is inevitable, because it is a logical 



and necessary consequence of the 
industrial progress of modem 
Europe ; * and as a system of * pro- 
viding recruits and forming reserves 
for the British army,' taking into 
consideration its vaned duties in 
peace and war, ' it is the best means 
of doing so ; it is the only means of 
doing so.*^^ 

M. 



*• Universal Conscription, 




20 



[July 



SOME RECOLLECTIONS OF SIR STERNDALE BENNETT. 



THE greatest Ehglish composer 
of the present century Las 
passed away from among us prema- 
turely, ffis works, with their sweet 
original melodies and their skilled 
orchestration, are left to ns to be, 
perhaps, even more appreciated than 
they have been hitherto, but we 
have lost the man himself 'who 
bore his faculties so meek.* 

Those who knew Sir Stemdale 
Bennett personally, and can recall 
hiacnodest, unassuming bearing and 
his invariable and almost morbid 
shrinking from flattery of any 
kind, will understand that even 
now, when the words can no 
longer reach his ears, one in- 
stinctively avoids speaking of him 
in terms of unmeasured praise. I 
would rather try, therefore, in this 
little sketch to give some small idea 
of his personal characteristics than 
to write a eulogy. 

Stemdale Bennett was essentially 
an Englishman. Associating con- 
tinually through his art with 
brother musicians of various na- 
tions, he retained through life in 
an unusual degree the shyness and 
reticence peculiar to his own coun- 
trymen. He had no love for society 
as such ; courting those in a higher 
social position tiban his own was a 
temptation unknown to him, I sup- 
pose, from boyhood. Beyond his 
immediate domestic circle, and a 
very limited number of friends, his 
art was all in all to him, and how 
he reverenced her integrity is shown 
by the quantity of unpublished 
MSS. laid aside for revision which 
was found after his death. That 
his productions were not more fre- 
quent was not the result of indo- 
lence, but of conscientiousness. 

The chief events in Sir Stemdale 
Bennett's musical career, such as 
his appointment to the conductorship 
of the Philharmonic concerts, and to 
the professorship at Cambridge, are 



BO well known that we need not 
dwell on them here. To the Phil- 
harmonic Society, who discovered 
and fostered his genius from the 
first, we owe the production of his 
greatest works in succession. His 
very last composition, a funeral 
march, was performed by them for 
the first time at their opening con- 
cert this season. 

It is hard to say which of his 
works was his own favourite, but 
he certainly had a specially tender 
feeling for the May Queen. He wrote 
that deliciously fresh music, redolent 
of spring flowers, not, as one might 
fancy, in a country village near the 
banks of the Thames, but at a small 
inn at Eastbourne. Perhaps in the 
same way that a voyager of the sea 
is apt to dream of green things 
upon the earth, the continual sight 
of the coast, with all its watering- 
place accessories, gave him a longing 
for the pastoral scenes and quaint 
country simplicity which his music 
describes so vividly. That inn was 
afterwards pulled down, but Sir 
Stemdale bought the bow window 
in which he used to write, and had 
it placed in a summer-house in his 
garden in St. John's Wood. That 
he had a highly poetical tempera- 
ment no one who listens to his music 
and the wonderful way in which it 
expresses the words to which it is 
set, or the idea \Vhich suggests it^ 
can doubt. Take, for example, his 
last sonata, The Maid of Orleans. 
Beginning with the sweetest and 
simplest of pastoral airs, you follow 
the history of the pure, noble spirit 
far away from the peaceftil moun- 
tain home through war-tumult 
and martyrdom to its glorified end, 
and feel, when it is over, as if you 
had been listening not only to a 
work of classical merit, but to a 
perfect poem. The * sacred can- 
tata/ as the composer diffidently 
calls his beautiful creation The 



1875] 



tSiyme Beeollections of Sir Sterndale Bennett 



21 



Wo7)icm of Samaria, is eminently 
descriptive throaghout. In the 
ver}' unvocal soprano solo Art 
thou greater than 01 ir Father 
Jacob ? this characteristic almost 
amounts to exaggeration. The 
music gives the idea, impossible 
afterwards to disassociate with the 
words (whether the composer's view 
of them was a true one or not), that 
the woman adopts a loud, insulting 
tone, increasing as she reiterates 
the question. One of the most 
tenderly expressive songs ever 
written, Lord, Tho\i hast searched 
me out and Icnotvn me, occurs in the 
same work. The touching phrase 
with which it begins is repeated 
twice, each time with some change 
in the harmony, which gives it a 
moi;e wistful intensity. The quar- 
tett Ood is a Spirit is a wonderful 
e3;^ression of devotional reverence 
and feith in the Unseen. No one 
who was present in Westminster 
Abbey on the occasion of the com- 
poser's funeitd will ever forget its 
effect, when, after the imposing 
solemnity of Croffc and PurcelFs 
burial service, the great organ 
hushed, and the four unaccompanied 
Yoices sang the simple strain. 

Sir Sterndale was not a man of 
wide literary taste or culture, and 
did not set up for being such. * I 
don't like books,' he said very em- 
phatically not long ago, adding, 
wtth playful courtesy, to a young 
authoress who happened to be in 
the room, ' except yours, Miss So- 
and-So.' The general distaste he 
expressed was, no doubt, quite 
genuine, for he was not a man who 
ever said startling things for the 
sake of astonishing his hearers, but 
he certainly made an exception in 
favour of the works of some of the 
great poets. He delighted specially 
in Cowper, and surely there is a 
marked resemblance between the 
pure and simple thoughts of this 
poet and the spirit of his own 
works. Sweet sunny fancies, the 
beauties of nature, devotional feel- 



ing, such he portrays, but scarcely 
a note of passion breathes through- 
out his music. 

Ho was not an enthusiastic man. 
In speaking not long ago to the 
writer of these pages of his friend 
Mendelssohn, and all that has been 
written of him, he said, * I knew 
and loved the man himself too well 
to like to see him so absurdly 
idealised.' 

It should not be forgotten that to 
Sir Sterndale Bennett we owe the 
introduction and appreciation of 
much of Bach's music in England. 
It was he who founded the Bach 
Society, which used to meet ifL the 
Lower Concert Boom, in Hanover 
Square. He arranged the Passion 
music into a comprehensive and 
complete form, and it was he who 
brought over the parts of the 
Christmas oratorio from Germany, 
and produced it in London two or 
three years ago. 

In Germany Sterndale Bennett's 
genius has always been recognised 
as much, if not more, than in hia 
own country. From the time when, 
his concerto in G Minor, one of his 
earliest compositions, was performed 
at Leipzig, where Mendelssohn and 
Schumann were then Hying and 
working, his reputation there was- 
made, and on his frequent visits he 
has always been received with en- 
thusiasm. 

' Look at him well, children,* 
said Dr. Ferdinand Hiller to the 
students at the Bonn Festival in 
1870 ; ' you will never see such a 
(Treat man a&rain ;' and we can well 
hnagine the Aj deprecating manner 
in which the English visitor would 
have taken such an introduction, 
though the genuine warmth of his 
old friend and brother musician 
must have been gi-atifying to him. 
No doubt, too, he valued such a 
tribute to English art from the 
Altmeister of Germany for the sake 
of his country, if not for himself. 
After Mendelssohn's death the post 
of eondactor of the G^wandhaus 



22 



Some llecollections of Sir Sterndalc Bennett, 



[July 



concerts at Leipzig was offered to 
him. 

It is, however, chiefly in his con- 
nection with the Royal Academy of 
Mnsic that I wish to speak of Sir 
Stemdale Bennett here. The most 
impressionable years of his life, from 
ten to twenty, were, as is well 
known, passed there, and nothing 
conld exceed the affection and grati- 
tude with which he regarded the 
institution for which, after the re- 
tirement of Mr. Lucas in 1866, he 
was so fittingly chosen as principal, 
an appointment which he held till 
the day of his death. 

The gloomy old building in Ten- 
terden Street never looked gloomy 
to him, and perhaps no other place 
ever gave him such a truly home 
feeling. 

* It is so much more snug here,' 
he said to one of the students, look- 
ing * regretfully round at the dingy 
walls, when the increased number 
of the pupils necessitated a removal 
of the concerts hitherto held there 
to a larger space. At the time of 
Sir Stemdale's appointment the 
Academy was in anything but a 
flourishing condition, chiefly owing 
to the mismanagement of a well- 
intentioned but inefiBcient amateur 
committee. The funds were very 
low, the students few, subscribers 
fewer. Two years later the newly- 
formed Government was applied to 
for additional assistance. The reply 
w^as the withdrawal of the shabby 
little grant bestowed by the late 
Liberal Ministry. As the Academy 
was by this time considerably in 
debt, a general collapse seemed in- 
evitable, and the directors threa- 
tened to close the institution. On 
•this Sir Stemdale called a meeting 
of the professors, and they agreed 
together to pull it through some- 
how if possible. The professors 
generously gave their services for 
some time for a nearly nominal re- 
muneration, and the principal re- 
signed his salary for some years. 
In this way things were kept afloat, 



and the debt was gradually cleared 
off. A professional committee of 
management was formed, and from 
that time the standing of the Royal 
Academy of Music has been steadily 
raised year by year until it has 
reached its present state of pros- 
perity. Sir Stemdale Bennett's 
interest in the progress and career 
of the students, especially, as was 
natural, in that of the pianistes, was 
unfailing, and though latterly he 
was obliged through uncertain 
health to give up a good deal of his 
personal supervision of arrange- 
ments there, no concei*t ever took 
place without his presence, so quiet 
and undemonstrative, and yet felt 
so distinctly through the room, as 
to make the uppermost thought in 
every young performer's mind, as 
he or she ascended the platform, 
* Will Sir Stemdale like this ? ' No 
Academy student in Sir Stemdale 
Bennett's time will ever forget him 
as he appeared month after month 
at these concerts. They will be 
able to recall all their lives the 
slight, spare figure, the attitude of 
motionless attention, and the deeply 
knitted brow, which gave his face 
an expression of displeasure, but 
which they understood to denote 
only the concentration of thought 
with which he listened to each per- 
formance. The moment the sonata 
or the song were over his face would 
relax, often into a smile of satisfac- 
tion, for though rigid and unflinch- 
ing as regards the selection of the 
music to be performed at these con- 
certs, as to the performance of it 
he was always ready to be pleased 
if possible. His strictness as re- 
gards musical composition never 
relaxed even in favour of the Mtuic 
of the Future, 

In alluding to the works of 
Wagner and his followers, and their 
influence on public taste, in a lecture 
given by him at Cambridge in 1870, 
he said : 

In irhat the charm of such music lies 
I am nnablo to uuderstand. Its cba- 



18:5] 



Some Recollections of Sir Sterndale Bennett. 



23 



racteristic appears to be a gpasmodic effort 
after origiuality. The laws of harmony, 
by which the greatest masters \?ere con- 
tent to be governed, are disregarded. With- 
out fonn, without melody, this new school 
yet exercises so powerful and mysterious 
a charm OTer students of the present day 
that many musicians sadly prophesy tlie 
extinction of the German school alto- 
gether. 

Sterndale Bennett was no be- 
liever in the achievements of 
heaven- born genius nnaccompa- 
nied by the most arduous appli- 
cation. In the same lecture quoted 
above he gives this advice to musical 
students : 

Above all things be patient; be con- 
tent to spend years in close, earnest study 
of the great masters. Take Haydn, Mozart, 
Beethoven, Spohr, Mendelssohn, for your 
guides. Young men seeking reputation 
expect nowadays to become famous all at 
once by the mere force of their own genius 
without toil. To write one good quartett 
would bring a reward which they might 
accept with a good conscience, but I have 
Lad grand scores brought to me by young 
students who did not even know how many 
symphonies Beethoven and Mozart ever 
wrote. Composition is an art which has 
to/oe learnt like every other. Themes may 
be always hovering over the mind of a 
composer, but of what use is this if he 
does not possess the skill to put them into 
shape ? 

He then enlarges on the industry 
of all the great composers, and 
finishes by relating the following 
anecdote : 

After listening to Mendelssohn's mar- 
vellous organ-playing I once ventured to 
ask him how he had acquired such power. 
His answer, given in English, I shall never 
forget : * By working like a horse,* 

In these days, when people are 
as liberal and enlightened in their 
views of music as in other matters, 
Sir Stemdale's opinions have often 
been thought narrow. Operas (in 
the popular sense of the word) 
rarely gave him any pleasure, as 
he considered that the purity 
of the music must be sacrificed 
to dramatic exigencies. On one 
occasion, on paying his regular 
Thursday visit to the Academy, 
amidst the Babel of sounds which 



greets the visitor as he ascends 
the pnncipal staircase, his sensi- 
tive ear detected certain passages 
from Herold's Zam;pa, Could 
it be possible within these classic 
walls ? He opened door after door 
in search of the perpetrator of such 
a crime, and at last came upon two 
young ladies playing the overture 
as a duet. On being gravely asked 
by whose authority they were stu- 
dying such music, they replied that 
they were merely reading at sight 
for practice. Sir Sterndale went 
straight down to the library, and 
returned bringing a duet of Mozart, 
which he placed before them and then 
retreated, carrying off the Zampa. 
But the occasions were rare on 
which he expressed any disapproval, 
and for one such stoiy current 
among his pupils there are twenty 
of his kindliness, sympathy, and 
encouragements. No doubt the se- 
cluded life he led, especially of late 
years, keeping almost entirely aloof 
from the claims of society, left him 
more time for acts of thoughtful 
kindness. The very last work ho 
ever did was to give lessons to four 
little girls at the Clergy Orphan 
School, which lessons were his 
contribution to the institution, 
and which he would not put off 
that last Saturday even to hear his 
own symphony performed at the 
Crystal Palace. There is a story 
told at the Academy of how ho 
found a very small boy crying 
bitterly over the intricacies of 
chromatic chords, or enharmonic 
modulation. ' Ah ! ' said the great 
musician, ' I see what you want, my 
little fellow ; it is pudding ! ' And 
he took him straight to his own 
house, where he was regaled magni- 
ficently for a fortnight, and perhaps 
got a little assistance in his musical 
difficulties too. 

Sir Sterndale Bennett's peace- 
loving and peace-promoting pro- 
pensities were invaluable to him in 
his position as head bf a musical 
institution, always a difficult post. 



24 



Some Becolhetions of Sir Siemdale Bennett 



[July 



To be a musician, whether composer 
or artist, implies a highly sensitive 
organisation, and this often pro- 
duces an excitable and irritable 
temperament. It is at all times 
hard to please everybody, and spe- 
cially so when that body is com- 
posed of professors of music. Where 
Sir Sterndale could not satisfy he 
at least soothed. On one occasion 
when some grievance was reported 
to him, having promised to remove 
the cause when the right moment 
should come, he added, ' Jci the viean^ 
time do not see it,'' The principle of 
not seeing things he did not wish to 
acknowledge he carried out most 
systematically, and perhaps his 
habitually absent, abstracted man- 
ner, which led people to think 
he had far less observation than 
was really the case, assisted him 
in this. Possibly, little worries 
and annoyances may have preyed 
more on his mind for his determi- 
nation not to give expression to 
them. He had often a worn, 
harassed look, especially latterly. 
No doubt, too, his rapidly failing 
health made even the duties hitherto 
fidl of intei'est to him arduous. 
His last public appearanC'C was at 
Mr. Kiihe's Musical Festival at 
Brighton in 1874; when he con- 
ducted The Woinan of Samaria, 
but he continued his work in the 
Academy till within a week of his 
death. 

His conservative spirit made him 
grieve over the loss of the Hanover 
Square Booms, sacred with musical 
traditions of the past, and now 
being ruthlessly turned into a 
club. The very last concert in the 
Hanover Square Rooms was given 
by the students of the Royal Aca- 
demy just before Christmas, and, 
strangely enough, it was the last 
concert that Sir Sterndale Bennett 



ever attended. Many who were 
present noticed that he had a sad, 
far-away look that night. He was 
thinking, perhaps, of how Men- 
delssohn and Schumann, Weber 
and Spohr, had conducted in that 
familiar hall, now to be converted 
into a coffee-room. Possibly the 
idea was in his mind that such 
changes would not affect him long. 
Twice during that evening he left 
the concert-room, expressing his in- 
tention of going home, and each 
time returned, as if he did not 
know how to tear himself away, 
though he felt unequal to remaining. 

The last Thursday but one before 
his death he was at the Academy 
as usual, examining new students, 
and the wandering words uttered 
in the last days of his illness chiefly 
related to matters concerning it. 
It was appropriately done that his 
coffin was carried there first, that 
the funeral procession was there 
formed before it proceeded to 
the Abbey, and that the paU, co- 
vered with wreaths of white flowers, 
was borne by twelve of his own 
fellow-students. 

It is not for ns to enquire into 
the full meaning of the simple quo- 
tation so touchingly placed on the 
cards sent round to friends aflier 
Sir Sterndale Bennett's death, 
'Being wearied with his journey.* 
One heavy domestic trouble liw, 
we know, come to him early in life. 
There may have been others of 
which the outer world knew little or 
nothing. To us the words convey 
the impression that those who lovea 
him best of all felt, in spite of their 
own great loss, that it was better so ; 
that the time had come when he 
had earned his rest, and that thosiB 
who valued and appreciated his 
wonderfal gifts most must not 
grudge it to him. 




1875] 



25 



THE DALESFOLK OF CUMBERLAND AND WESTMORELAND. 

By One of Themselves. 



I AM abontto attempt only a slight 
sketch of the primitive habits 
of our Dalesfolk before the ginning 
jenny and the steam engine had 
changed and modernised all our 
ways of living. 

The most probable account of the 
origin of the peasant proprietors 
called ' statesmen ' is, that their 
tenure is not feudal but allodial, in so 
• far as that they acquired their es- 
tates at a very remote period, either 
by establishing themselves on un- 
occupied lands (like the squatters 
in Australia or America) or by con- 
quering previous possessors. The 
evidence in favour of this opinion 
is, first, that all the estates in the 
Dales are of customary tenure — 
copyhold tenure only occurring as 
a very rare exception. Now, if the 
statesmen had been enfranchised 
villeins, they would have held their 
lands by copyhold, as do enfran- 
chised villeins in other parts of 
England. The fact that they have, 
since the establishment of feudality, 
paid lord's rent, heriots, and other 
charges to the several lords of 
manors, is no proof that they really 
held their estates from them, in 
virtue of such payments, because 
freeholders elsewhere are compelled 
thus to acknowledge the authority 
of the courts of the manors in which 
their freeholds lie. Secondly, several 
statesmen can prove that the estates 
they now possess have descended 
uninterruptedly in their families 
since the time of Richard IT., and 
always as customary freeholds. One 
family — the Holmes, of Mardale — 
have inherited their land, in un- 
broken succession, from one John 
Holme, who came from Norway in 
the year 1060, settled in Lincoln- 
shire, and afterwards removed to 
Mardale ; thus, probably, obtaining 
possession of his land befoi^ any 



Norman feudal lord had ever esta- 
blished a claim upon it. Thirdly, 
another, though but a negative 
proof, that the origin of our states- 
men is independent of and anterior 
to the Norman Conquest is, that 
Cumberland and Westmoreland are 
not mentioned in Domesday-book; 
and, fourthly, this opinion derives 
much support from the fact that 
when James I. came to the throne 
of England he set up a claim to all 
the small estates in Cumberland and 
Westmoreland, on the plea that the 
possessors (the statesmen, in fact) 
were merely tenants of the Crown. 
This is strong evidence that they 
were not the vassals or tenants of 
any other feudal lord. But the 
manner in which the statesmen re- 
plied to the king's demand was con- 
clusive. They met to the number 
of two thousand, between Kendal 
and Staveley, at a place called 
Ratten Heath, convened by one 
Brunskill, and adopted the resolu- 
tion that * they had won their lands 
by the sword, and were able to 
defend them by the same.' On 
these and other grounds it seems 
probable that the statesmen, of 
Cumberland and Westmoreland 
entered on their lands, in very re- 
mote times, either as conquerors or 
squatters, and that the feudal system 
introduced by the Norman Con- 
queror was but an episode in their 
existence. During the days of its 
power, they were compelled, in order 
to obtain the protection of the feudal 
lords, to submit to their yoke, 
though more in form than in sub- 
stance ; but they existed before its 
rLse, and they have survived its fall. 
Anyone acquainted with the fell 
dales must have observed that many 
of the farmhouses are now turned 
into 6ottages or outhouses, while 
others lie in ruins ; from whence it 



26 



The Dalesfolk of Ciimherland and Westmoreland. 



[Jaly 



may be inferred that the tenements 
(or holdings) must, at one time, 
have been much smaller and more 
numerous than at present. That 
this was actually the case, in one 
instance, at least, we have direct 
proof ; for it is on record that Queen 
Catherine, wife of Charles II., held 
thirty-nine customary tenements in 
Grasmere. I have also ascertained 
that at the beginning of the present 
centuiy there were as many as 
twenty- six statesmen in Grasmere, 
men who each kept a few cows and 
a small stock of sheep on the com- 
mon. Such was, probably, about 
the number of statesmen in the vale 
when the poet Gray passed through 
it. In his description of Grasmere 
he says, * Not a single red tile, no 
gentleman's flaring house or gar- 
den, breaks in upon the repose of 
this little unsuspected paradise; but 
all is peace, rusticity, and happy 
poverty in its neatest and most be- 
coming attu'e.* Could the poet now 
revisit Grasmere ho would hardly 
be able to recognise it. Of gentle- 
men's houses there is an abundance, 
and but one statesman, properly so 
called, remains. But, perhaps, the 
change which this, more than 
any other of oar mountain valleys, 
has undergone in a comparatively 
short period, is most stnkingly il- 
lustrated by comparing the Grasmere 
of to-day with Grasmere as depicted 
by Mr. Wordsworth, who lived there 
for some years about the beginning 
of the century. He describes it as 
a perfect republic of shepherds and 
agriculturists, among whom the 
plough of each man was confined to 
the maintenance of his own family, 
or the occasional accommodation of 
his neighbour. Two or three cows 
furnished each family with milk and 
cheese. The chapel was the only 
edifice that presided over these 
dwellings — the supreme head of this 
pure commonwealth, the members 
of which existed in the midst of 
a powerful empire, like an ideal 
little community, whose consti- 



tation was imposed and regu- 
lated by the mountains which pro- 
tected it. Owing to the smallness 
of the estates, there was not suffi- 
cient employment in farm work at 
all times for a statesman and his 
family ; and carding, spinning, and 
weaving formed the employment of 
the winter months, and of any spare 
moments during the rest of the year. 
The men carded, and the women 
spun the wool yielded by the pre- 
vious clipping. Almost every house- 
hold had its weaving shop, in which 
one or more looms were kept ; and 
many of the Dalesmen were able to 
weave the cloth which served for 
their own wear and for that of 
their families. The linsey-woolsey 
dresses worn by the women were 
homespun, and they also manufac- 
tured linen for the various domestic 
purposes for which it was required. 
After a web of woollen cloth was 
turned out of the loom, it was 
taken to the * beck ' and soaked in 
the water ; it was then placed on a 
flat stone called the ' battling-stone' 
(bat, battle, beetle), and well 
pounded with a wooden mallet 
This process was milling, a 
primitive operation which had 
to serve all the elaborate pro- 
cesses which woollen cloth now 
passes through at the mill of the 
fuller. The inhabitants of the 
dales manufactured more cloth and 
yam than was sufficient to supply 
their own wants, and the overplus 
was taken to market and sold to 
traders from a distance. There is a 
tradition that, when the plague 
raged in Keswick, about the year 
1665 and a few years afterwards, as 
no market was held in the town for 
fear of infection, the people of the 
dales carried their webs and yam 
to a large stone, which is very con- 
spicuous on one of the lower 
elevations of Armboth Fell, and 
there periodically met and did 
business with the traders. The 
stone still goes by the name of the 
*Web stone.' The application of 



1875] 



The Daksfolk of Cumberland and Westmoreland. 



27 



macliinery to the processes of card- 
ing and spinning had the effect of 
transferring these branches of in- 
dustry from the houses of the 
Dalesmen (of whom the majority 
were statesmen) to the manufactur- 
ing towns ; and this seems to have 
been one of the chief causes of the 
decline of the statesmen; after losing 
that occupation no other could be 
found so suitable for filling up spare 
time. SuflBcient employment for 
large families was not to be found 
at home, and the sons and daughters 
of the old statesmen were often 
thought too good to send to ser- 
vice, and in consequence were 
brought up in idleness. To use 
a local expression, the *' heaf ' 
was outstocked. Debts accumu- 
lated, and thus the estates one by 
one have come into the market and 
passed into the hands of large pro- 
prietors, in some instances into those 
of great manufacturers, who have 
thus absorbed first the trade and then 
the lands of the old statesmen. 

The costume of the Dalesmen is 
sometimes described as having been 
picturesque ; as before stated, the 
material of which it was made was 
homespun, and frequently undyod, 
white and black fleeces being 
mixed to save the expense of dyeing. 
It is curious to observe that this 
homely material, which is still made 
in some parts of Scotland and Ire- 
land, has lately been pronounced by 
fashion to be superior for country 
wear to the most finished products 
of the steam loom ; so that now the 
most elegant ladies do not dis- 
dain to wear dresses of the self- 
same homespun, of which our 
ancestors made their 'kelt coats.' 
These coats were ornamented with 
brass buttons, as were the waist- 
coats, which were made open in 
front for best, in order to show a 
frilled shirt breast. Knee-breeches 
were the fashion for centuries. 
They were buttoned tight round 
the body above the haunches, so as 
to keep up without braces, which 



are of modem invention. Those 
used for best had a knot of ribbon 
and four or five bright buttons at 
the knee, and men who could 
afford It had them made of 
buckskin. Their stockings, which 
were a conspicuous part of the 
dress, were also made from their 
own wool, the colour being 
generally either blue or grey. On 
their feet they wore clogs on or- 
dinary occasions, but when dressed 
in holiday costume they had low 
shoes fastened with buckles, which 
were sometimes of silver. At the 
present day this style of dress is 
nearly obsolete, in our vales, but 
some of the old Dalesmen still ad- 
here to what was the fashion of 
their youth. Some four or five 
years ago, four of the old statesmen 
of the district happened to meet at 
Grasmere fair, and stood talking 
together for some time. After a 
while one of them noticed that all 
four were dressed in knee-breeches, 
and thinking it a strange chance 
which had brought together what 
in these degenerate days were, 
probably, about the only four pairs 
of breeches left in the county, they 
agreed that it formed a fitting 
occasion for a friendly glass and a 
good * crack ' about auld lang syne. 
They were aconnecting link bet ween 
the old times and the new, and pro- 
bably among the last to wear the 
costume of a bygone age. 

The dress of the women was not 
less primitive than that of the men. 
They wore homespun linsey-woolsey 
petticoats and long- tailed bedgowns, 
a blue linen apron completing their 
attire. The statesman's daughter 
who first communicated to her 
native dale a knowledge of the 
glories of printed calico, is said 
to have created a tremendous 
sensation, and more than a nine 
days' wonder. The clogs worn by 
the women differed from those of 
the men in being pointed at the 
toes, and having brass instead of 
iron clasps. Their bonnets were 



28 



The Bcdesfolh of Cumberland and Westmoreland. 



[July 



made of pasteboard covered with 
black silk, and in shape somewhat 
resembled a coal-scnttle, the front 
projecting nearly a foot beyond the 
face of the wearer. Bonnets were 
bonnets in those days, and served 
to protect the head and face from 
sunshine or rain. 

In some parts of Cumberland the 
peasantry formerly lived in houses 
called *clay daubies,' which were 
made of clay, and roofed with 
thatch ; but in the Lake Country, 
stone and slate being plentiful, no 
other building materials seem to 
have been used. The houses were 
of rude construction, being built (as, 
indeed, they are stiU) of unhewn 
stone, but with far less care about 
jointing and fewer * through stones * 
than are thought necessary now. 
In the oldest houses in the more re- 
mote dales, no mortar seems to have 
been used, probably from the 
difficulty of obtaining lime, for in 
some instances clay has been used 
as a substitute. They were roofed 
with rough slates, nearly as thick 
as flag-stones, and said not to have 
been, in all cases, taken from 
quarries, but to have been split 
from stones lying on the sur- 
face. The timber used in the 
construction of the houses was oak ; 
doors, floors, and window-frames 
were all of that sturdy material. The 
beams were made of whole trees, 
roughly squared, while the smaller 
rafters and joists were split. The 
carpenters of those days used very 
few nails ; wooden pins being made 
to serve the same purpose. In 
houses of the usual size there were 
seldom more than three rooms on 
the ground floor, viz. the dwelling 
apartment, or house part, the dairy, 
and the parlour. The parlour was 
generally used as the bedroom of 
the master and mistress. The house, 
or house part, was a sort of best 
kitchen, and was the ordinary sitting 
room of the family. There was 
frequently an out-kitchen, called 
the down house, in which washing, 



baking, brewing, &c., were carried 
on. Long after the use of coal and 
firegrates had become general 
throughout England, our Dalesman 
still continued to bum peats and 
wood upon the open hearth. In- 
deed, it was not until nearly half of 
the present century had elapsed, 
that railway communication making 
coal cheaper, and the increased 
value of labour making peat dearer, 
coal finally superseded turf, and, 
as a necessary consequence, open 
fire-places gave place to grates. 
The old chimineys had no flues, and 
were funnel-shaped, being very 
wide at the bottom, and gradually 
contracting to the top, where there 
was an aperture of the size of an 
ordinary chimney through which 
the smoke escaped; and in these open 
chimneys, hams, legs of beef, flitches 
of bacon, and whole carcases of 
mutton were hung to dry for winter 
consumption. Mr. Clark, in his 
Survey of the Lakes, mentions 
having seen as many as seven car- 
cases of mutton hanging in one 
chimney in Borrowdale, and was 
told that some chimneys in the 
vale contained more. Very few of 
these old-fashioned chimneys are 
now to be found in the country. 
There is still one at the farm at 
Dale Head Hall, in which the 
tenant smoke-dries hams. To finish 
the description of the houses, the 
steps of the stairs were made of 
stone, and the space above was 
sometimes undivided, and seldom 
made into more than two rooms, 
which were called lofts, and used 
as the sleeping apartments. They 
were unceiled and open to the roof, 
which was so rudely constructed 
that light could ofben be seen 
through the chinks, and when a 
driving snow storm came it was no 
uncommon thing for the people in 
bed to have a covering of several 
inches of snow over the bed clothes. 
Most of the old buildings had a 
porch before the outer door, and 
the door was made of massive oak 



1875] 



The DaUiifolk of Gumherland and Westmoreland, 



29 



two planks thick, and fastened to- 
gether with wooden pins, which 
were put in parallel rows about 
three or four inches apart, and left 
projecting about three-quarters of 
an inch on the outside. The fresh- 
wood or threshold was the lower 
side of the wooden frame which 
contained the door. It stood four 
or iive inches high, and people 
going in or out were obliged to 
step over it. Mr. Clark tells us, 
there was a degree of sanctity 
attached to the threshold of a door, 
and certain charms were, in his 
time, remembered, which had their 
effect only in that place. A good 
specimen oi a door of this descrip- 
tion may be seen at the old farm- 
house at Armboth, its planks £astened 
together with 631 of the above-men- 
tioned oaken pegs. In these busy 
times wo could make a dozen doors 
in the time it took our ancestors to 
make 631 oaken pegs. 

The food of the Dalesmen was 
simple, being confined almost en- 
tirely to the products of their farms. 
They consumed a large quantity of 
animal food, and as sheep and cattle 
were in the best condition for 
slaughtering in autumn, it was then 
that the Dalesmen stocked their 
wide chimneys with a supply of 
meat for the winter and spring. 
No animals were slaughtered in 
spring, for having been on short 
commons all the winter, they were 
too lean to kill for food. It must 
be borne in mind that oil-cake and 
* Thorley's Food for Cattle ' were 
not yet in existence. Tea, coffee, 
and wheaten bread, now so common, 
were then little known in our dales. 
Almost the only bread our ancestors 
ate was * haver-bread ' (Anglice, 
oat-cake), and their *poddish' — 
a most important part of their diet 
— ^was but the same meal, boiled 
instead of baked. They brewed 
their own ale, and drank it at nearly 
every meal. Such — together with 
milk, butter, and cheese, the pro- 
dace of their own dairies — was the 



food of our forefathers, and in this 
way no doubt they lived well. 
After tea, coffee, and sugar came 
into more general use, it is said 
that an old Dalesman remarked 
that he wondered * what t* warl' wod 
cum tew after a bit, when fowk noo- 
a-days couldn't git their breakfast 
without hevvin stuff fra baith East 
and West Indies.' 

Until about the middle of last 
century the roads of the country 
were in a wretched state. In- 
stead of wheeled carriages, pack 
horses, and in some cases sledges 
were used for conveying mer- 
chandise from one place to an- 
other. There is an old man now 
living in Grasmere, whose grand- 
mother could remember the present 
church bells being brought to Gras- 
mere on sledges by the old road 
over the top of White Moss — then 
the main road between Ambleside 
and Grasmere. Then there is the 
old story about the first lime ever 
taken into Borrowdale. It was, so 
the story goes, conveyed thither in 
a sack, on the back of a horse, and 
when the man in charge of it got 
as far as Grange Bridge a heavy 
thunder shower came on, and the 
lime began to smoke and grow hot 
in the sack. To stop this he poured 
some water on it, which he brought 
in his hat from the beck, which in- 
creased the smoke so much that, 
thinking there must be some devilry 
in smoke which was increased by 
water, he took fright, threw his 
load into the beck, and galloped 
home. Here, as elsewhere, most 
of the travelling used to be per- 
formed on horseback. A man and 
his wife often rode to market to- 
gether on the same horse — the 
woman sitting behind on what was 
called a pillion. But the Dalesmen 
were by no means particular about 
the appearance of their turn-out. A 
piece of turf dried and cut into the 
proper shape was frequently used 
for a saddle. In other cases what 
was called a ' pad ' was used, which 



30 



The Balesfolk of Cumherland and Weatnioreland. 



[Jalj 



was made of straw. Sometimes, on 
market days, afler business was 
over, sucli of the farmers as were 
convivially disposed, stayed on at the 
public-house, holding * crack ' and 
drinking until a late hour. While 
a spree of this kind was going on, 
the hungry horses have been known 
to break loose in the stable, and by 
the time their riders were ready to 
go home, saddles and bridles were all 
eaten, and the roystering old farmers 
had to ride home bare back! 
Ploughing was attended with hard 
labour to the ploughman, and it re- 
quired at least three men and as 
many horses to work one plough. 
The horses were yoked one before 
another, and it was one man*s work 
to drive them. A second man had 
to hold the plough-beam down, to 
prevent the plough from slipping 
out. To guide the plough was the 
work of a third man and required 
by far the most skill. If this man 
was not very expert, or the land 
difficult to turnover, the services of a 
fourth man were required, who, with 
a pick and spade, turned up places 
which could not be done with the 
plough. Not much skill or labour 
was bestowed on making a plough. 
It was nothing unusual for a tree to 
be growing in the morning, to be 
cut down during the day, and made 
into a plough with which a good 
stroke of work was done before 
night. 

The Dalesmen of the olden time 
worked much harder, though per- 
haps not 80 regularly, as their 
descendants of the present day. 
Their hours of labour were much 
longer and a great part of what was 
their hardest work is now performed 
by machinery. Though ignorant 
and unpolished, they were honest 
and hospitable, and possessed good 
natural abilities. A hundred years 
ago the division of labour was no- 
where so systematically carried out 
as it is now, and in remote places 
like our dales many a farmer, in 
addition to the cultivation of his 



land, followed with more or len 
success various handicrafts for each 
of which we now employ a separate 
workman. Anextraordinaiyinstance 
of this diversified ability joined to 
unwearying industry is presented 
by the life of the Bev. Bobeit 
Walker, of Seathwaite, ^epenllj 
known as 'Wonderful Walkw'.* 
Although he lived in obscnritf, 
he found no less a biog^rulier 
than the poet Wordsworth, «ki 
gives an interesting accoant of Vm 
in the notes to his Sonnets of te 
Duddon. The parish priest m 
finely delineated in the Excurticm k 
also a picture of Wonderful Walkff. 
He wsis bom in 1 709, and was tin 
son of a small statesman, who lived 
in Seathwaite. He was the yoangeil 
of twelve, and a weakly cbOd, « 
which latter account his fiiAff 
gave him what schooling he oontt 
At the age of 17 he went to b 
schoolmaster at Oosforth, 
Egremont, and remained there twe^ 
or three years. He then remoTBlj 
to Buttermere, where he acted boftl 
as minister and schoolmaster, 
received the usual small salaiy 
' whittlegate.' Before and afttrj 
school hours he laboured at maiuiiL| 
occupation. He wrote his oroj 
sermons and did duty twice 
Sundays. In summer he rott:) 
between three and four, and went ill 
the fields in hay time with his scyth^^j 
in harvest time with his sickle. Hej 
ploughed, he planted, he tendel] 
sheep on the fells ; at other iimes he 
clipped or salved — all for hire. 

When engaged in these empbf" 
ments he would be at work lonff 
before the regular labourers, aod 
remain after they had finished ibeff ] 
day's work. Nor was he less skilCd 
than diligent. In all such laboiue 
he excelled. In winter he occupied 
himself in reading, writing his 
sermons, spinning and making bii 
own clothes and those of his familf 
(he was an exceUent spinner)t 
knitting and mending his own 
stockings, and making his own 



ni 



5] 



The Dalesfolh of Curnherland and We$tmoreland. 



31 



)s, the leatlier of whicli was of 
Dwn tanning. In bis walks he 
3r neglected to gather and bring 
le the wool from the hedges, 
was the physician and lawyer 
[lis parishioners. He drew up 
r wills, conveyances, bonds, <fcc., 
te all their let^rs and settled 
r accounts, and frequently went 
uarket with sheep or wool for 
farmers. The next step in his 
ler was his removal from Butter- 
e to Torver, on the banks of 
iston Lake, and taking priest's 
jrs ; soon after which he married 
3spectable maid-servant whose 
^tions he had gained at Butter- 
e, and who brought him a 
ane of 40Z., which he forthwith 
sted in the funds. Shortly 
r his marriage he obtained the 
icy of Seathwaite, where he 
i and officiated for 67 years. 
;he time of Wonderful Walker's 
)intment, and for many years 
% Seathwaite church was with- 
pews. He used it as a school- 
1, and is described as seated in 
favourite place, near the com- 
ion table, wearing a cloak of 
wn making. His great-grandson 
us that when the family was in 
t of cloth Mr. Walker would take 
jpinning wheel with him to the 
ol, where he also kept a cradle 

course of his own making. 

unfrequently the wheel, the 
le, and the scholars, all claiming 
attention at the same moment, 
i the ingenuiiy of even Wonder- 
Valker to keep them all going, 
chapel was afterwards pewed, 
a new school built. To the 
kdy long catalogue of his attain- 
bs and pursuits must be added 
owledge of fossils and of plants, 
a habit of observing the stars 
(vinds. Indeed, the ai^osphere 
one of his favoTirite studies: 
lade many experiments on its 
re and properties. In summer 
sed to collect flies and insects, 
by his entertaining descriptions 
lem, amuse and instruct his 

L. XIT. — NO. LXVII. 1<EW SERIES. 



children. After a long and useful 
life, which extended over nearly the 
whole of the last century, he died 
on June 25, 1802, in the 93rd year 
of his age. In the course of his 
long life he had, besides bringing 
up and settling in life a family of 
twelve children, amassed the sum 
of 2,oooZ. the result of marvellous 
industry and self-denial. He was a 
hero in humble life — a greater hero 
than many in whose honour monu- 
ments have been erected. 

Many of the chp^pels in oar fell 
dales were extremely small; not 
affording room for more than half- 
a-dozen families; but the former 
chapel at Buttermere, where 
Wonderful Walker entered on his 
sacred duties was the smallest of 
all. It was, in fact, the smallest 
church in England — its walls mea- 
suring only 17 feet in length 
on the outside. Mr. Wordsworth 
describes it as being scarcely larger 
than many of the single stones or 
fragments of rock lying near it. 
Like so many other chapels of the 
same class, it has been rebuilt. In 
the notes to Mr. White's Lays avcl 
Legends of the Lake Country there is 
some interesting information about 
the chapelries in the fell dales. He 
tells us that the curacy of Butter- 
mere was certified to the governors 
of Queen Anne's bounty at il. yearl}-, 
paid by the contributors of the 
inhabitants. It was also certified 
that this chapel and Wythop were 
served by readers — except when 
the curate of Lorton officiated in 
them, three or four times a year. 
Such curacies were held in these 
northern counties by unordained 
persons until about the middle of the 
reign of George II. when the bishops 
came to the resolution that no one 
should officiate who was not in 
orders. But, to avoid injustice to 
those already officiating^ they were 
admitted to deacons' orders without 
any preliminary examination. The 
reader, as he was called, at the 
chapel in the Yale of Newlands 

D 



32 



The DdlesfoTk of Cumherland and Westmoreland, 



received this kind of ordination. 
He also exercised the varions trades 
of dogger, tailor, and butter- 
print maker. Bnt the pay of a 
reader was so trifling, that he conld 
only maintain himself by the help 
of some similar employment. Even 
the livings were, many of them, not 
worth more than two or three 
ponnds a year, and the ministers 
were, therefore, in a great measure, 
dependent upon the voluntary con- 
tributions of their parishioners. 
Their stipends, besides the small 
money payment above-named, com- 
prised ' clothes yearly and whittle- 
gate.' ' Clothes yearly * meant ono 
suit of clothes, two pairs of shoes, 
and one pair of clogs — more or less, 
according to the bargain made. In 
Clark's Survey there is the follow- 
ing explanation of the term * whittle- 
gate.' Whittlegate meant two or 
three weeks' victuals at each house, 
according to the ability of the in- 
habitants, which was settled among 
themselves ; so that the minister 
could go his course as regularly as 
the sun, and complete it annually.' 
Few houses having more knives 
than one or two, the pastor was 
often obliged to buy his own knife 
or whittle. Sometimes it was 
bought for him by the chapel 
wardens. * He marched from house 
to house with his whittle, and, 
as master of the herd, he had the 
elbow chair at the table head, which 
was often made of part of a hollow 
ash tree —a kind of seat then com- 
mon. The reader at Wythbum had 
for his salary, 3Z. annually, a 
hempen sark or shirt, a pair of 
clogs, a whittlegate, and a goose 
gate on Helvellyn. A story is still 
told in Wythburn of a minister who 
had but two sermons which he 
preached in turns. The walls of 
the chapel were, at thfat time, un- 
plastered, and the sermons were 
usnally placed in a hole in the wall 
behind the pulpit. One Sunday 
before the service began some 
mischievous person pushed the ser- 



mons so far into the hole, 
could not be got out with 
When the time for the 
arrived, the priest tried ii 
get them out. He then 1 
the congregation and t( 
what had happened. ] 
touch them, he said, with 
finger, but could not get h 
in to grasp them, * but, 1 
said he, * I can read you a 
out of Job, that's worth 
them put together.' 

A curious custom existe 
time of holding markel 
church. In Cumberland, i 
in Judea, *the house of 
seems to have been tume 
into * a den of thieves,' at 
a common mart. In 1306 i 
bitants of Cockermouth rc] 
in a petition to Parliam 
there was a great cone 
people every Sunday at Cm 
church, when com, floui 
beans, meat, fish, and other 
merchandise were bought j 
which was so very injurioi 
market at Cockermouth 
persons of that place wh< 
the tolls of the king were i 
pay their rent. Upon thi 
hibitory proclamation wj 
against the unseemly usage 
time of the Restoration of 
II. tradition says that i 
market at Wigton was 
Sunday, and the butchers ] 
carcases even at the churcl 
attract the notice of their c 
as they went in and can 
church. It was even no ui 
thing for people who hi 
their bargains before th( 
began, to hang their joints 
over the backs of their se 
the ceremony was concludt 
zealous priest, after 1( 
ineffectual endeavours to : 
congregation sensible of 
decency of such practices 
took a journey to London, 
for tho purpose of petitioi 
king to have the market ( 



1875] 



The DalerfcVc of Oumbmiand and Westmoreland. 



38 



day, wbich favour he is said to have 
had interest enough to obtain. 
Though such practiced have been 
long discontinued, there are people 
now living who ean recollect hear- 
ing the clerk give out, in the church- 
yard, before the congregation dis- 
persed, the advertisements o£ the 
various sales about to be held in the 
neighbourhood. In some places it 
was the custom for the church- 
wardens to go round the village 
during divine service and drive all 
the loungers into church. In large 
churches there was usually a choir 
of singers, but seldom, until quite 
recently, in the smaller ones. The 
clerk was generally leader of the 
band, and after blowing the pitch- 
pipe, he used to intone on the key- 
note the first tune of the psalm to 
be sang. Some twenty or thirty 
years ago the inhabitants of a parish 
in the Iiake district engaged a sing- 
ing master to teach the church singers 
some new tunes. He found his 
pupils not unapt, most of them being 
able to read muBic. But when the 
music came to be wedded to Tate 
and Brady's * immortal verse,' cer- 
tain old gentlemen who sang bass 
were detected in substituting for 
the sacred words the inappropriate 
and monotonous syllables ' boom 
boom.' One of them on being re- 
monstrated with, thus replied, ' Yer 
ways may a' be varra weel, bit they 
dunnut suit me. A always dud sing 
bum bum, an a' always will sing 
bum bum.' 

Our Dalesmen have always been 
more or less musical. Some songs 
that were in vogue several hundred 
years ago are still occasionally sung, 
chiefly at the hiring fairs, by 
itinerant ballad singers. As a proof 
of the extreme antiquity of some of 
the tunes, I may adduce the curious 
fact that the air of ' St. Dunstan's 
Hunt's up,' mentioned by Sir Walter 
Scott as long lost and forgotten, is 
still, in the dales, played on the fiddle 
every Christmas-eve. In pursuance 
of a very ancient custom, now dis- 



continued, a fiddler went the round 
of the vale on that evening, bade 

* Good night * to each member of 
every household by name, and after 
each greeting played the tune of 

* St. Dunstan's Hunt's up.' But I 
should draw but an incomplete pic- 
ture of our Dalesmen, pastor present, 
if I failed to notice their festivities 
and their sports. The former were, 
generally speaking, confined to two 
seasons — ^the sheep-shearing or 

* clippings ' in summer, and the 
great winter festival of Christmas. 
In former days Christmas-day was 
far more of a holiday than it is now. 
From Christmas-day until Twefth- 
night all work was thrown aside, 
and the time devoted to feast- 
ing and merrymaking. Fiddling and 
dancing, ' merry nects ' (nights), and 
*auld wife haiks,' attracted old 
and young. For a graphic descrip- 
tion of these festive gatherings, as 
they were in the time of our fore- 
fathers, I must refer you to the 
ballads of Anderson, * Blin' Stagg,' 
Mark Lonsdale, and other Cumbrian 
bards, who were eye-witnesses and 
sharers in the i-^vels. The * clip- 
ping ' feasts were much the same as 
those with which we are familiar 
nowadays, except that the fun was, 
perhaps, more uproarious. 

The great and characteristic sport 
of Cumberland and Westmoreland 
has always been wrestling. Our 
North Country mode of wrestling 
differs from, and, as we love to 
think, excels anything of the kind 
practised in other parts of England 
or, indeed, of Europe. But as the 
wrestling ring is, happily, not a by- 
gone institution, but, on the con- 
trary, anyone who cares to see a 
good * worsle' may easily gratify his 
wish, it is unnecessary to enter into 
a minute description of this sport. 
The only other sport I need men- 
tion is hunting. Our Dalesmen 
have always been keen hunters, but 
the mountains among which they 
lived have impressed their sport 
with a peculiar character of wil(kiess 

D 2 



34 



Tlie DalesfoUe of Cumberland and WedmoreUmd. 



[July 



and nnconventioiiality, rendering 
fox bunting among the fells quite a 
distinct sport from fox hunting as it 
is understood in Leicestershire. One 
distinctive feature of fell hunting is, 
that the hounds can only be followed 
on foot, but another modifying cir- 
cumstance, not less important, is 
that among the fells, most of the 
hunters are also shepherds, who 
look upon the fox as their natural 
enemy, whose death is to bo com- 
passed by any means and at all sea- 
sons. Until quite a recent period, 
a few couples of hounds were kept 
in every dale, and, at least, as many 
terriers ; and when the presence of 
a fox in the neighbourhood was be- 
trayed by a missing lamb, or an auld 
wiie'B hen-roost being robbed, all 
the dogs, and nearly edl the men in 
the parish, commenced (no matter 
what the time of year) a pursuit, 
which generally ended in the death 
of the offending fox, unless he had 
the good luck to escape into some 
* borrant ' or other stronghold. But 
even then the pursuit was not al- 
ways abandoned. One summer, 
about twelve y^ars ago, a fox es- 
caped &om the hunters into the in- 
accessible crevice of a rock near 
Stickle Tarn. For three weeks a 
party of Langdale men kept watch 
on him by turns, placing a stone 
before the crevice to prevent his 
escape by night. At last a wet 
evening drovo them early down to 
the valley, and when some of them 
returned next morning, the stone 
placed before the crevice was gone, 
and so was the fox. The mys- 
tery of his escape has never been 
solved, but the prevailing idea 
has always been that * some "Gurs- 
mer" (Grasmere) chap mud ha' 
dun' it.' 

Though our Dalesfolk do not seem 
to have been, at any time, so much 
the slaves of superstition as were 
many more refined and educated 
communities, still many superstitious 
customs, though few of them strictly 



local, prevailed amongst them in old 
times. Of these I shall only men- 
tion the ' need fire,' which has been 
practised in our own day. Th6 need 
fire, which was, probably, the last 
remains of fireworship in this 
country, took its name from the 
Danish word nod (pronounced need), 
which signifies cattle, whence onr 
English neat herd. * It was once,* 
says Mr. Sullivan, 'an annual ob- 
servance, and is still occasionally 
employed in the dales and some 
other localities, as a charm for the 
various diseases to which cattle are 
liable. All the fires in the vill^ 
are first carefully put out, a depu- 
tation gping round to each house to 
see that not a spark remains. Two 
pieces of wood are then ignited by 
fiiction, and within the influence of 
the fire thus kindled the cattle are 
brought. The scene is one of dire 
bellowing and confusion, but the 
owner is especially anxious that his 
animals should get ' plenty of the 
roek.' 

The charm being ended in one 
village may be transferred to the 
rest, and thus propagated as far as 
it is required. Miss Martineau, iu 
her Lake Chiide, tells a story of ^ & 
certain fitrmer, who, when all his 
cattle had been pulled through the 
fire, subjected an ailing wife to the 
same potent charm.' The last time 
the need fire was used in this ireigh- 
bourhood was in 1841, when in some 
parts of Cumberland and Westmore- 
land there was an epidemic amongst 
the cattle. It was brought over Don- 
mail Raise, and transferred from 
&rm to farm through the Vales. But 
at one farm, a few miles out of Kes- 
wick, the sacred fire was suffered to 
become extinct, the owner, a well- 
known statesman, not having suffi- 
cient faith in its virtue to take the 
trouble to transmit it or even to 
keep it alight. He tells me that ho 
was severely rated at the time for 
hie lack of &ith. It is now npwards 
of thirty years since the need fire 



1875] 



The BaUsfolk of Cumberland and Weeimtyi'eland. 



85 



was last used as a charm to preserve 
cattle from infection, and daring 
that time a great change has been 
effected in the enlightenment of the 
people. The rinderpest was the 
severest visitation of cattle dis^ 
ease we have had this century, bat 



no one thought of trying the need 
fire, which has, no doubt, gone its 
last round. We still have among 
us men of the old school, who be- 
lieve in charms and ghosts and the 
like, but their number grows less 
and less. 




36 



[Wy 



ON A LOGICAL TRICK OF THE MODERN EXPEEIBNTIAL 

PHILOSOPHY. 



TTTE have all of ns, in the course 
W of this our life-jonmey, con- 
stantly to ask onrselves the question, 
What am I to believe? and to 
answer it in a variety of ways, as 
most agreeable with our cast of 
mind or our intellectual training. 
Few only take much trouble in 
searching far for the grounds of 
their assent or dissent in any in- 
stance. We are content, for the 
most part, to settle each question 
as it arises, and, as it were, from 
hand to mouth, without fixed 
principles or regular rules. This 
tendency is, however, strongest 
with the least reasonable people, 
and diminishes as the reason im- 
proves ; so that the more logical our 
minds, the more does the question 
force itself upon us, ' Is there any 
Ground-Theory or First Principle by 
which I maybe guided in selecting 
true from false among the ideas I 
shall encounter in my passage 
through the world ? ' and, as reason 
will be found, upon examination, to 
be nothing else than a power of 
comparing and selecting ideas, the 
interrogation may be expressed 
thus, *What idea must I take as 
my absolutely incest wherewith to 
compare all others ? ' The answer 
to which question I take to be 
the very object and meaning of 
philosophy. 

Philosophy does indeed often 
seem to be cngaj^ed rather in an 
enquiry into the cause of things 
than into the truth of them. But 
we know, and have long decided 
that we shall ever know, nothing 
of cause jper se. Our enquiry into 
cause, therefore, resolves itself into 
an enquiry into priority, and this 
priority in point of time becomes 
in philosophy priority in point of 
logic, which is in fact the same 
thing as reality or truth. 

Now, when we say that a thing is 
true, we imply something more than 



that it exists, and this something 
more is the difference between facts 
which are apprehended by the 
senses and those which are appre- 
hended by the reason, a distinction 
which is both logically antecedent 
to, and also the cause of, all reason- 
ing whatever. Thus I, in common 
with the lower animals, may recog- 
nise the fact that the sun rose to- 
day by opening my eyes, awaken- 
ing, getting up, as a plant may be 
opening its leaves ; but when I 
say * The sun rose to-day,' I call in 
the aid of reason, and recognise the 
fact of the sun*s rising as a truth 
We have no word to express a 
thing (fEict, truth, idea) recognised 
otherwise than by the reason ; bnt 
this matters not so long as we 
distinguish — as the example above 
given may help us to do — between 
sensuous apprehension, or appre- 
hension through the senses, and 
reasonable apprehension, appre- 
hension in which reason plays some 
part. It was with the object of 
changing the first sort of appre- 
hension of existence into the second 
that Descartes formulated his 
*Cogito; ergo sum,' and jQot, as a 
recent writer has been led to 
believe, for the sake of the induction, 
* I think ; therefore I breathe.' 

We proceed now in our endeavonr 
to find the ultimate truest thing, 
the foundation stone of our system; 
and at the outset we notice one 
distinction which in ordinary life 
we have constantly to make, and 
which seems in our present enquiry 
likely to be of great use to us. It 
is conveyed by the words real and 
unreal, and the earliest and most 
frequent subjects of such distinction 
are the things which exist externally 
to us and those which are the 
creations of our own minds. In- 
deed, this distinction (between ex- 
ternal and internal) comes under 
our notice so much oftener than 



1875] On a Logical Trick of the Modern Experiential Philosophy, 37 



any other, that external existence 
will probably seem to most the best 
«zplanation---almost a definition, in 
fact — of the idea reality. They 
would indeed give the title real to 
some things which have no external 
existence, as thought, reason, truth, 
Ac, but they would do so rather 
by analogy and figuratively than by 
direct appHcation. 

Let us, then, suppose that there 
is more reality in these external 
occurrences than in anything else, 
and, trusting only to the information 
of common sense and putting aside 
the refinements and distinctions 
which philosophy seeks to throw 
in the way of this simple admission, 
let us take this notion of reality as 
the First Principle of our World- 
System. We have, then, a 
philosophy founded upon this 
intelligible principle : That the in- 
formation of our senses — or, in other 
words, those ideas which seem to 
come from outside us — are the most 
real and truest of all things. Such 
a philosophy, it is clear, will come 
before us with high, if not the very 
highest, claims to acceptance. 

This is the first principle of 
the experiential philosophy, a fact 
which, besides being implied in its 
name, will, I think, be evident to any 
student of this system. For the 
only obiection which could be raised 
is that the experiential phUosophy 
is not concerned with the question 
of the ultimate truth, but only with 
the cause of our ideas ; and these two 
statements resolve t|;iemselves at 
last, as has been just now shown, 
into an identity. The experiential 
philosophy keeps itself clear from 
any assertions concerning noumena, 
or things in thenuelves ; all that it 
requires us to accept as the limit is 
that there ismore truth in experience 
than in any other of our ideas. And 
this our reason seems bound to do. 
As, however, philosophy requires 
a more strict examination of its 

Srinciples than we give in the or- 
inary affairs of life, we must try 
Bind realise as clearly as possible the 



exact character of those ideas which 
seem to us more real than others. 
Evidently this reality comes from 
their being externally caused. 
They are outside of us, not in any 
way the creations of our own brain. 
Their reality is derived from their 
externality, and is therefore pro- 
portionate to it. But not only 
this ; to be recognised as true by us, 
their externality must be recognised. 
They must not only be externally 
caused, but they must be recognised 
as such. Every fact of a dream, 
for instance, may be as externally 
caused and therefore correspond as 
really with external existence, as 
another fact, but the first are facts 
which have lost the memory of 
their external cause, and therefore 
appear to us unreal. Otherwise, 
unless we keep this distinction in 
our minds, all difierence between 
experience and non-experience 
ceases to exist, and the word ex- 
periential as a distinctive term be- 
comes meaningless. Nor, again, 
does the strength of the feeling or 
sensation (the philosophical idea) 
make its reality. The strongest 
idea is certainly that on which^we 
shall act, but if we act upon an 
hallucination it does not cease to be 
an hallucination for all that. We 
therefore fall back upon what we 
have just stated — that the reality of 
our ideas rests, according to our 
present train of argument, on their 
recognised externality. Now, this 
brings us at once into something of 
a difficulty. 

To have this recognised externality 
the facts (ideas) must of course be 
apprehended as truths, not merely 
as existences. This apprehension of a 
truth can, however, never be the re- 
sult of mere externality. Just as to 
make any fact — say the rising of the 
sun— a part of my philosophy I 
must be able to enunciate it as a 
truth, and say ' The sun roSe,' and 
not merely to he awake or warm, so, 
to make the reality of external facts 
a ground-principle of any sjstem, I 
must be able to say ' These facts are 



38 On a Logical Trick of the Modem ErperienUicd FMloBophy, [Jnlj* 



external/ or, 'are real.' We see the 
necessity of this by looking at the 
alternative if it be denied. For 
until we recognise as true an idea, 
we simply act upon that which is 
strongest. The strongest, then, is for 
us the most real ; in fact, all distinc- 
tion between true and false, real or 
unreal, disappears, and we only 
have strong and weak ideas, judged 
by their effects. But in respect of 
any process of reason wc have agreed 
that strong and weak are not the 
same as real and unreal. If, instead 
of external and internal, we adopt 
the words strong and weak in the 
sense in which Mr. Spencer uses 
these words, we are no better off. 
For the strong ideas (the actually 
external ones) are never presented 
to the reason at all ; they are only 
represented as recognised external 
ideas, that is, as weak ones. See- 
ing, then, that before an external 
sensation can be made the ground- 
principle of our system it must be 
recognised as external — or, more 
strictly, its externality must be 
recognised as a truth — and as such 
recognition is not inherent in the 
sensation itself, it is clear that 
mere externality is not the only 
element in an external idea ; but 
there is also a something added by 
the mind which converts it into 
recognised externality. Here, then, 
we are thrown quite out again. We 
thought we had discovered that the 
reality of an idea was proportionate 
to its externality. What, then, is 
this something added by the mind ? 
Is it a constant quantity, and what 
ratio does it bear to the simple ele- 
ment of externality in an idea? 
This is, expressed in rather a differ- 
ent way, the famous difficulty of 
the nisi intellectns ipse of Leibnitz. 
Later on we shall perhaps be able 
to translate it into an easier, a 
more popular and less scientific 
form. 

At present I trust the patience 
of the reader while proceeding to 
ask how the Experiential Philoso- 
phy accommodates itself to this 



difficaliy. Let ns interrogate first 
the older Experiential Philosophy — 
the philosophy of Locke. The qnes* 
tion had never been clearly asked 
in Locke's time, and it cannot be 
said that he really faces it. He 
supposes, as we know, the mind to 
be a blank sheet on which the sen- 
sations write their impressions. 
Well and good; but it is obvious 
that all these ideas will not have a 
recognised externality. Some will 
be received before we have any 
faculty of sifting our ideas, and 
acted on unconsciously before we 
have acquired the power of deter- 
mining our actions. Such ideas can- 
not be admitted as ground-truths of 
an experiential philosophy. Bat 
how far will these unsifted experi- 
ences influence us in our acceptation 
or interpretation of future ones? 
Who can say ? 

In Locke's system, then, there is 
evidently a large undetermined part 
or factor in each idea, which pre- 
cludes the notion that in founding 
our action or our theory upon these 
ideas we are founding them strictly 
upon experience recognised as such. 
He has, however, given or suggested 
some reply to the difficulty, which 
may be summarised as follows : 
^' ' It is true,' says he, 'that there 
is this uncertain part in every seem- 
ing experience. But I never said 
that the deductions of reason were 
necessarily right. We have the 
satisfaction of knowing that this 
uncertain — and so possibly untrue 
— portion of experience is a toler- 
ably constant factor with each per- 
son. It come from those sensations 
which belong to the years before 
he was able to select the true from 
the false. Considering, then, that 
truth is relative and not absolute,, 
the existence of this possibly untrue 
part in all experience is of little 
consequence, so long as the part is 
the same for all. Strike it out, and 
the relative truths will hold the 
same relation. In fact, by experi- 
ence I mean the effect of external 
sensation modified, as it most be» 



1875] On a Logical Trick of the Modern Experieniial Philosophy, 39 



by the resnit of sensations occnrring 
before the mind was able to sift them 
and determine between them. This 
is the only sort of experience which 
exists, and I am perfectly justified 
in calling a philosophy foanded upon 
these experiences an Experiential 
Philosophy. 

As we are not, on the present 
occasion, considering this older 
system of Locke's, I will not pause 
to ask how far the answer is a valid 
one. I will merely notice in passing 
a certain trick of logic it contains, 
founded upon a confased use of the 
word experience, a trick which 
might perhaps escape the notice of 
the reader. It is true that this mo- 
dified result of sensation is the only 
experience which exists; but it is 
also true that this experience is not 
the same thing we thought it to be. 
The reality which seems to be in it 
belongs, we thought, to its exter- 
nality; but now it would seem that 
if the externality were complete the 
idea might have less reality. For 
we now find that its reality belongs 
to its recognised externality, while 
the factor or co- efficient which effects 
this change is not recognisable. 
Assuming, however, this co-efficient 
to be constant, it is evident that the 
reality of the idea varies in propor- 
tion to its externality. Or, more 
plainly to state the matter, we find 
now that we must allow a certain 
mental constitution — the intellechis 
ipse — ^which affects all our ideas, 
whether they come from without or 
from within. If, however, those 
from without are the only real or 
true ideas, their truth belongs and 
is proportionate to the part of them 
which comes from without. 

The modem experiential philoso- 
phy, however, differs greatly from 
the philosophy of Locke. It has 
incorporated into itself the great 
idea of evolution. According to 
this idea the mind (or brain) is not 
at birth a blank sheet, but is infi- 
nitely modified by the results of 
long ancestral experience descending 
to the individual, by the sensations 



accumulated, not by himself, but by 
his ancestors, and handed down to 
him only in their effect upon his 
mental constitution. These ances- 
tral experiences, then, are not expe- 
riences for hirriy but exist solely as 
a part of his intellectus ipse, the 
faculty which modifies his own sen- 
sations. Now, seeing, as we have 
said, that the reality of his sensa* 
tions seems to depend upon their 
extemaHty, this reality will diminish 
in proportion as each external sen- 
sation is modified by the intellectus 
ipse ; and if we adopt the same 
standard for truth ^a for reality, 
their truth will diminish in propor- 
tion as they are modified by the 
intellectus ipse. But the develop- 
ment of the race develops the inteU 
lectus ipse, and so increases its modi- 
fication of every sensation. There- 
fore the development of the race 
tends to lead us away from reality 
or truth. 

Here is the dilemma in which, 
from first to last, we find ourselves 
placed in following the experiential 
philosophy, and keeping, it is to be 
observed, the same idea whereby to 
interpret the word experience. But 
this the modern experiential phi- 
losophy — or, indeed, any experien- 
tial philosophy — does not do. The 
idea of experience with which we 
started was that of an idea felt to 
be external as compared with — and 
here lies the important point — as 
compared with an idea felt to be 
internal. The only claim which 
the modem experiential philosophy 
can have to be called experiential 
is, that it asserts all our ideas to be 
originally caused by external sen- 
sation, and therefore to be originally 
experiences. But are all our ideas 
equally the result of experience, 
and therefore equally real? Be- 
cause, what in that case becomes of 
the idea of externality as compared 
with internality, which accompanies 
what we ordinarily call an expe- 
rience ? What, too, becomes of the 
distinction on which we sought to 
found our philosophy ? This expe- 



40 Oil a Logical Trick of the Modem Exjperieniial FhSioBophy. [Joly 



riential pliilosophy is not founded 
upon any snch distinction, bat 
merely one which chooses to call 
all ideas — ^hallucinations and facts 
alike — experiences. What, then, is 
the definite meaning of this word 
experience ? It has none. 

This is the logical trich which 
has given a name to this article. 
It seems clear that the philosophy 
we are examining owes its title to 
a mere verbal quibble. Over it 
the intuitionalist and the experi- 
entialist may shake hands; for, 
as regards tiieir primary theories! 
they are at one. ' I find in me certain 
ideas of which I cannot rid myself,' 
says the intuitionalist ; * from these 
I take my start.* 'You are quite 
right,' Implies the experientialist; 
' for the existence of such ideas, 
though you have no proof of their 
correspondence with external fact, 
shows that they have been derived 
from a long course of ancestral 
experience.' 

But why, it may be asked, not 
allow the experiential philosophy 
to choose a name as it pleases, and 
call itself experiential simply on 
the ground of its assertion that all 
our ideas originally existed as sen- 
sations? 

For two reasons. First, because 
this mere assertion that ideas arise 
from sensations cannot constitute 
the basis of an experiential phi- 
losophy, or, indeed, of any phi- 
losophy whatever ; since sensations, 
as such, are quite different from 
experiences, the first being cog- 
nised only by the senses, the second 
recognised by the reason ; and it is 
by the help of their logical trick 
that experientialists start with the 
principle of the greater reality of 
experiences, and from that argue 
back to the origin of all ideas in 
sensation a if thrx two things were 
the same. 



Secondly, because the same trick 
allows the so-called «experiential 
philosopher to play fast and loose 
with hus own system* For ex- 
ample : if we say that we are 
certain that the angles of a triangle 
are together equal to two right 
angles, it may be asked how we 
know this. For we have not seen 
near enough triangles to warrant ub 
in saying from experience that this 
is so ; and even if we had seen 
enough triangles, our experience of 
these triangles would be quite a 
different thing from a mere sensuons 
cognition of them. By such a sen- 
suous cognition of triangles, suppos- 
ing such an one were possible, which 
in this case it is not, even though the 
number of the triangles were in- 
finite, we should certainly never 
learn anything of their properties 
as stated in this proposition. Con- 
sequently, the certainty we feel of 
this proposition does not come from 
the externality of the thing — ^tri- 
angle — itself, but from this and a 
certain part (in this case a veiy 
great part) added to it by our own 
minds. 

Now, there are some propositions 
which we cannot but hold, which 
are entirely abstracted from direct 
connection with external things. 
For instance, ' Reason is a guide to 
truth.' But it is just when it gets 
face to face with such propositions 
as these that the experiential philo- 
sophy suddenly draws back, and de- 
clares that it can have nothing to say 
to them. How can it be logically said 
that some recognised external ele- 
ment is necessary to every certainty, 
and yet that the amount of it may 
diminish while the certainty in- 
creases ? To draw back in this way 
is to assert the first ; to admit the 
doctrine of evolution is to admit the 
second. 

C. F. Keary. 



1875] 



41 



POLITICS AND THE PRESS. 



THE English press can no longer 
jastly complain that it is ig- 
nored by the Imperial Parliament. 
When, with the exception of the 
Kenealj-Orton craze and its re- 
sults at St. Stephen's, the only epi- 
sodes which have as yet relieved the 
monotony of an intolerably tedious 
session are those springing out of 
the relations between the Legisla- 
ture and journalism; when it at 
one time seemed, as if the pri- 
vileges of Parliament as affected by 
the press would absorb the con- 
sideration of the House of Com- 
mons during the remainder of the 
session, in the same manner as the 
ritual of the Church of England a 
year ago; when a Prime Minister, 
whom no taunts of his Parliamen- 
tary opponents could rouse out of 
an attitude of lethargic self-com- 
placency, thought it necessary to 
reply, with solemn emphasis, to the 
charges advanced against his ma- 
nagement of political business in a 
leading article in the Times — ^jour- 
nalists may at least congratulate 
themselves that, if notoriety is what 
they desiderate for themselves and 
their calling, they have it in abun- 
dance. Notoriety, however, is not 
the same thing as influence; and 
because a certain department of 
journalism has of late attracted a 
prominent degree of Parliamentary 
and public attention, it does not 
necessarily follow that journalism 
itself is a power independent of Par- 
liament. As a matter of fact the 
case is exactly the reverse. The 
English press, so far as its political 
authority goes, is the creature of 
the English Parliament, and when 
Mr. Frederick Harrison says * that 
the enormous preponderance in the 
State with which the House of 
Commons has gradually invested 
itself has overshadowed journalism, 



and has converted journalism into 
something which is called a fourth 
estate, but is really an appendage 
of the Commons,'* he estimates the 
matter with perfect accuracy. Nor 
does the notice which Mr. Disraeli 
thought it desirable to bestow on a 
single article in the Times militate 
against this view. In the first place, 
when Mr. Disraeli made the speech 
to which Lord Hartington took ex- 
ception, and at which Mr. Grladstone 
expressed surprise, he was really 
replying not so much to specific 
allegations contained in a great 
newspaper as to an opinion gene- 
rally prevailing in the House of 
Commons, not less among his own 
supporters than his opponents. It 
was not merely a suspicion, it was 
a conviction, entertained by the large 
majority of those around him, which 
stung Mr. Disraeli into a denial of 
the imputation of weakness and in- 
decision ; and all that the Times had 
done was to constitute itself the 
mouthpiece of that sentiment. Mr. 
Disraeli never mentioned the Times 
by name, and it would have been 
perfectly open for him to declare, 
and that with entire truth, that he 
was not answering the anonymous 
impeachment of a journalist. In 
the second place, waiving those con- 
siderations, it will be sufficient to 
say that the position which the 
Tim£s enjoys in London, and even 
in European journalism, is excep- 
tional. Granting that the Tim£s 
cannot on political subjects origi- 
nate opinion, it is the only morning 
daily newspaper in Great Britain 
which is able to reflect opinion with 
authority ; in other words, appre- 
ciably to influence the political 
opinion of Parliament or of the 
country. 

This may appear a bold assertion, 
but it is an assertion which admits, 



Order and JProgresSy p. 105. 



42 



Politics and the Press, 



[Mj 



nnless I am greatly mistaken, of 
conclusive demonstration. It is not 
merely that the Times is superior 
to its European contemporaries in 
point both of intelligence and 
circulation. One need not even 
exceptthat journal, which one knows 
is proverbial for its world-wide 
diffusion, and for the reason that the 
area, over which the influence of a 
journal extends, is regulated not by 
the number of copies sold, but by 
the number of readers through 
whose hands those copies pass. 
Having regard to the public which 
the Times commands on the Con- 
tinent and in the Colonies, the case 
will not be overstated when it is said 
that for every one reader of a single 
copy of the Daily Telegraph or the 
Sta/ridard a corresponding copy of 
the Times has ten. Nor, again, is it 
entirely because the Times is the 
one daily newspaper which, having 
made the national character its 
scientific study, has completely 
mastered its idiosyncrasies, has dis- 
covered all its prejudices, is inti- 
mately acquainted with its follies 
and its foibles, its virtues, and its de- 
fects. If the great heart of Eng- 
land wants to know how it beats it 
must consult the Times, It matters 
not whether the subject immediately 
in hand is political, social, or reli- 
gious. When it is of the last- 
named character the discernment 
of the Times is felicitous and in- 
fallible. In its treatment of any 
religious topic the Times always re- 
minds one of !Major Pendennis, who, 
Thackeray tells us, always made it 
a point to go to morning church and 
to repeat the responses in an audible 
tone. It may be very well to say 
that Major Pendennis was an elderly 
incarnation, in blue frock-coat and 
buff waistcoat, of the world, the flesh, 
and the Devil. The Major — perhaps 
the best character that Thackeray 
ever drew — was thoroughly respect- 
able, and worshipped the proprieties. 
He was the microcosm of the nation 
in spiritual matters ; and it is be- 



canse the faith of the Major is the 
faith of the Times that it is accepted 
as a theological teacher when it is 
necessary to speak out on theological 
matters by the bulk of moderately 
educated Englishmen. In fact^ 
the Tim^ is a religions institution 
in itself; and it is something to 
know that when the State Church 
goes, as go we are told it must^ the 
spirit of the Establishment will be 
continued and its influence per- 
petuated in the columns of the lead- 
ing journal. These things are 
factors in the general influence of 
the TimeSf but they do not explain 
adequately its poUtical influence. 
The secret of the political influence 
of the Times arises from its known 
independence. The Times may be 
disposed to regard individual states- 
men with exceptional kindliness;- 
may think that some ought to be 
encouraged, and that others ought 
to be snubbed ; but the fact remains 
that the Times is the sole journal in 
Eogland, perhaps in the world, 
which in its dealing with parties — 
or the bastard substitutes for parties 
that we now have — and in the main 
with public men, is amenable to 
no considerations of favour or fear. 
The censors of the Times — and 
though the journalists of the penny 
press may sometimes be moved 
with jealousy, they regard it as 
an establishment not without feel- 
ings of patriotic admiration, so that 
its real enemies are chiefly confined 
to fanatic sectarians and a handful 
of visionary enthusiasts — might per- 
haps object that this consistent 
impartiality has been purchased at 
least in the case of Conservatives 
by compliance with certain con- 
ditions. It is, I believe, an hi.storical 
fact that Mr. Disraeli did enter into 
some compact of this kind with the 
conductor of the Tim^ a few years 
ago — that is to say, he is under- 
stood, and I am informed correct- 
ly understood, to have promised to- 
supply the authorities of Printing 
House Square with a priority of spe- 



1875] 



PoUties and the Press. 



43 



cial intelligence. So far as he person- 
ally is concerned, the arrangement 
has been faithfully observed, much 
to the mortification of the ' Conser- 
vative press.* His colleagues, how- 
ever, have not uniformly considered 
themselves bound by the obligations 
of their chief. They have had per- 
sonal friends amoug the editors of 
the penny Tory dailies, whose 
solicitations for exclusive intelli- 
gence they have sometimes grati- 
fied. When Mr. Hamber was editor 
of the Standard, he was during 
the brief reign of the late Lord 
Derby and Mr. Disraeli, at intervals 
able to publish intelligence d propas 
of foreign and domestic poHcy in 
advance of the other newspapers, aud 
he enjoys the same opportunity in 
the case of the journal which he now 
controls — the Hour, For this Mr. 
Disraeli — ^who, strangely enough,has 
inherited Peel's aversion to the Cod- 
servative press, and never loses an 
occasion of assailing it with bitter 
contempt — is not responsible, and it 
may safely be said that he himself 
would no more condescend to treat 
with rriessi&u/rs les redacteurs of the 
penny press than Prince Bismarck 
could be induced to negotiate with 
the gentlemen of the pavement. 
That is the raison d^etre of the charge 
which one perpetually hears brought 
against the Conservative party by 
Conservative diui^nal scribes of 
neglecting their press. The charge 
is perfectly true, and though it must 
be confessed to argue ingratitude, 
it is also indicative of wisdom. 
When Mr. Gladstone and his friends 
were in power they made much of 
their joumaHsts, and it is a touching 
proof of the homage which a great 
party leader like Lord Granville is 
gracious enough to bestow upon his 
servitors in the press, that when 
the Countess Granville gives an 
assembly you will generally see the 
names of a Liberal editor or two, 
and perhaps a leading article writer, 
introduced in the best of company at 
the tail df the Foreign Office clerks. 



The Times is far too dignified 
and great, far too convinced withal 
of its own supreme and perma- 
nent power, to be moved by so petty 
and vulgar a sentiment as envy. 
It would, therefore, be preposterous 
to suggest that the extreme ani- 
mosity which it showed to Mr. 
Gladstone when his Government 
was tottering to its fall was in any 
degree the expression of a sentiment 
of annoyance that he should in his 
prosperity have paid such court to 
the Daily Telegraph. The Daily Tele^ 
graph is the only instance on record 
of a penny paper that has com- 
pletely enjoyed the confidence of 
its party, and that has been exclu- 
sively furnished with official * tips.' 
But it is doubtful whether the 
ardent championship of the Tele- 
graph rendered Mr. Gladstone the 
slightest practical assistance or 
whether it prolonged the life of his 
Government by a single day. A 
partisan paper has not got it in its 
power to befriend its political allies. 
The time has gone by when the out- 
side public could be hoodwinked by 
gushing leaders, or be beguiled by 
impressively sonorous communiques. 
Support, to be effectual, to be even 
worth the having, must issue from 
a quarter of proved impartiality 
and of demonstrated disinterested- 
ness. After the Timss the Pall Mall 
Gazette has more political authority 
than any other journal of the age, and 
the cause of its authority is identi- 
cal — its independence. I purposely 
put the consideration of ability 
entirely on one side. With one 
or two exceptions, there is no daily 
paper now published in London 
which is not written with enough 
and more than enough ability to win 
the intellectual assent of its readers. 
But the force which confessedly 
inspires, and the motives which 
animate them, cause their assertions 
to be received with suspicion, and 
their arguments with distrust. ' The 
interests and energies of the leading 
journals,' writes Mr. Frederick 



44 



Folitics and the Freia. 



Harrison in the same work to wliicli 
reference has been already made, 
* are so deeply identified with those 
of Parliamentary parties that freedom 
of criticism and independence of view 
cannot otherwise than suffer.' It is 
not enough to say this. They are 
not attempted ; they are scarcely 
even simulated. Party journalism 
is as much an organised system of 
special pleading as that which the 
Old BaUey or the Court of West- 
minster itself can show. The 
journalist writes up to, just as the 
advocate speaks up to, the brief. In 
the one case the brief comes imme- 
diately from the editor, or mediately, 
it may be, from a particular official 
of the Government ; in the other, 
immediately from the solicitor. It is 
just as preposterous to expect the 
party journalist to take a dispas- 
sionate view of the political theories 
which it is his business to maintain 
or refrite, as it ls to ask the hired 
jurisconsult to criticise the case of 
his client. There are some London 
papers which make from time to 
time a display of impartiality on 
public topics that is truly ludicrous, 
just as its corresponding reality is 
worthless — the Daihj News and the 
Standard, Correctly speaking, the 
Daily News is not the organ of a 
party, but of a sect. It does not 
represent, or even affect to represent, 
the sentiments of the nation, but of 
a clique and faction of the nation. 
It views every subject of the day 
from the same standpoint, and 
measures it by the same standard. 
It is the oracle of the Birmingham 
School League and the oracle of the 
Nonconformists. Its merits as a 
newspaper are great. It possesses 
not merely Hterary merits of a 
very high order, but its news is 
admirably arranged, its intelligence 
is always early and sometimes ex- 
clusive. But no more faith is 
to be placed on its political estimates 
than pn those cf( the Daily Telegraphy 
and if at any time it appears to 
adopt the more independent tone gf 



the two, that is because. the 
interests of secularism and I 
formity clash with the 
welfare of Liberalism. I: 
words, the party independ 
the Daily News is as interei 
its dependence ; it is artifi< 
not genuine. 

With the Standard we 
closely similar result, thot 
process by which it has been 
at is different. The affeck 
independence is here palpa 
product of personal ann 
By good management am 
fortune combined, by a ji 
arrangement of climbing- 
which have been kicked a 
soon as they have done the 
in order that the symt 
appearance of the exterioi 
edifice might not suffer, th 
dard has achieved a con si 
position. But it has neve 
whatever Mr. Richard an* 
gentlemen may say in the I 
Commons, in the confidence 
Conservative party. The S 
is naturally irritated at this s 
tic neglect, and is animated I 
timent of the most unfrienc 
to Mr. Disraeli, for the soh 
that, though a Conservative 
Mr. Gorst, is concerned w 
political direction of that 
the Prime Minister hims< 
clines to recognise it« ei 
by name and satirises i1 
sequential airs in Pari 
Willing to wound and yei 
to strike, the Standard 
one day that Mr. Disra< 
adopted a course which 
characterised by his usu 
dom, or that two opinio: 
conceivably exist on the pol 
sued at the Colonial Offic 
the next it recurs to its 
attitude of interested adulati 
Pertinax Macsycophant telh 
not infrequently he felt dis] 
vituperate instead of to pre 
he repressed the retaliatory 
and continued to 'boo' j 



1875] 



Pontics and the Tress, 



45 



same. The Standard is intelligibly 
angry Tirhen Mr, Disraeli rallies it 
on its rudeness and pretence. It 
cannot subdue a snarl ; but it does 
not bite, and the petulant spaniel 
immediately rpassumes the attitude 
of submission. The Hour stands 
in nearly the same relation to the 
Standard that the Daily N&ivs does 
to the Telegra^ph ; there is too visibly 
imprinted upon its broadsheet evi- 
dence of extreme devotion to the 
cause of a coterie only ; and whereas 
in the case of the Daihj Nmos it is 
pronounced Nonconformity, it is in 
the case of the Hour a rather bour- 
geois spirit of Protestantism. This 
is a mistake. The Bock and the 
Record never yet won a convert to 
evangelicism or religion, and in a 
newspaper one may have a good 
deal too much of the Scarlet Lady 
of Babylon and her sins. 

A statesman who is wise, na- 
turally and properly declines to 
support the journals which profess 
themselves attached to his cause; 
they can neither help him nor 
thwart him, for the simple reason 
that no individual in the United 
Kingdom who is competent, as most 
moderately educated and fairly 
thoughtful people are, to arrive at 
a conclusion of his own, lends the 
shglMfcest heed to the political 
utterances of a partisan print. 
Nor is the view here submited 
in any way invaHdated by the 
fact that household sufifrage has 
been introduced, and that the 
political instruction of our masters 
is not yet complete. It is very 
likely true that our masters know 
notluDg more of poHtical questions 
than they glean from, the leading 
columns of the journals which they 
chance to see. But then political 
questions proper do not greatly 
enter into their consideration at 
contested elections. One man votes 
red and another blue, but he only 
does so because the red or blue candi- 
date is the better personally com- 
mended, or the better locally knowu, 



or happens to be identified with 
some movement, or agitation, or 
craze, or crotchet of which he, the 
free and independent elector, ap- 
proves. Whether this state of 
things is destined to exist in perpe- 
tuity in England it may be difficult 
to say. But it is no part of my 
business to essay the role of prophet ; 
I can only state what is ; not what 
will be, and I say unhesitatingly, 
and speakiug with some experience^ 
that the enormous majority of elec- 
tors in the constituencies of England 
know nothing of, and are influenced 
in no degree by, considerations of 
party politics in the exercise of the 
suffrage. It is in the department 
of purely social questions that the 
penny press possesses an indis- 
putable power and initiative. The 
Metropolitan Board of Works 
can be effectually hauled over 
the coals through its medium. 
It is omnipotent to direct atten- 
tion to defective drainage and to 
inferior gas. It may emphasise 
the cry against palpable abuses 
of the functions of Government 
in subjects, which come home 
to the hearts and bosoms of men, 
to such a degree as to guarantee 
that sooner or later a remedy shall 
be forthcoming. It may place 
householders on their guard against 
novel systems of ingenious swin- 
dling ; it may protect employers of 
labour from being victimised by 
forged testimonials. But these 
things do not come within the 
sphere of statesmanship at all ; they 
are mere matters of vestry super- 
vision. Publicity is the chief — in- 
deed, the only — security which we 
can have for efficien«y ; and it would, 
therefore, be ungrateful not to ac- 
knowledge the salutary influence 
of cheap journalism. All against 
which it is necessary to protest is 
the assumption that the penny 
newspapers do or can fulfil func- 
tions which the principles of their 
conduct, if not the whole scheme of 
out public life, render impossible* 



46 



Polities and the Pres$. 



[Jdj 



And it cannot be denied that the spirit 
of indiscriminating partisanship has 
destroyed the political authority of 
the cheap daily press. As already 
explained, journalism is not an 
independent fourth estate, as it is 
sometimes described ; it is a ' mere 
appendage of the House of Com- 
mons,* and all that the penny papers 
as political organs do is to echo 
with variations the tune which has 
been played on the previous night 
at Westminster, and to register the 
opinion of those whom they are 
pledged through thick and thin to 
support. Thus it is that a mode- 
rately approbatory article in the 
Times is worth all the adulation 
diffused throughout a whole series 
of articles in the Standard or the 
Telegraph. Mr. Disraeli, who, 
when he exerts himself, caix form 
a truer estimate of the forces 
which govern public opinion than 
any other living statesman, knows 
that the fervid enthusiasm and 
feminine devotion of the Daily 
Telegraph did not avail Mr. 
Gladstone when the predestined 
period of his fall had arrived. For 
himself, he places trust neither in 
the Standard nor the Hour. He is 
aware that the condition of any 
journalistic adherence which is valu- 
able is discernment ; and that it is 
precisely because the Times attacked 
him, even with bitterness, for his 
mismanagement of the House of 
Commons early in May, that the 
praise, when it came in June, was 
worth having. If the proprietors and 
editors of the penny party journals 
do not wish completely to seal 
their doom as directors of political 
opinion, they will, even at the risk 
of being slighted by wire-pullers 
and understrappers, determine to 
adopt a line of their own, instead 
of making it their business to write 
to order, to gloze over mistakes, 
to palliate blunders, and generally 
to endeavour to throw dust in the 
eyes of a public which has already 
commenced to emancipate itself 
irom this despotism of imposition. 



There is more of originality, 
freshness, ability, vigour, and variety 
displayed in the newspaper press 
of England than in that of any 
other country in the world. Yet 
there is no country in which 
journalists have less weight as 
politicians, and this although the 
remedy for the defect lies in their 
own hands. It is customary to 
contrast the position of journal- 
ism in England with its position 
in France, not a little to the ad- 
vantage of the latter; and there 
is some truth in the estimate, 
though not so much as is gene- 
rally imagined. That it is mncb 
easier to gain a political position by 
writing for the French press thwi 
by writing for the English is chiefly 
due to the circumstance that in 
France newspaper articles are 
signed, and in England they are 
not. But the signed system is 
really impossible in England, and 
may some day become impossible 
in France. For every one news- 
paper in England there are pro- 
bably four in France, exclusiye 
organs of the countless cUqnes 
held together by the personal in- 
fluence of a few individuals, of 
which the French political syd;ein 
is a compact. Thus all the IVench 
newspapers, it may be said, are 
sectarian rather than national, and 
resemble the Daily News or the 
Hoitr more than the Times. Neither 
in Paris nor in the provinces is 
any such phenomenon to be ob- 
served as a great jpumal which 
speaks to the people as a whole. 
While parties are as infinitely 
divided and subdivided as is the 
case with the parties of France, a 
French Times, which would really 
be a symbol of national unity, is an 
unrealisable ideal. Thus we have 
a host of petty prints, insignificant 
in their influence and in their Con- 
tents, consisting of short occasioual 
notes, sensation novels, a select few 
contemporary events, and articles 
penned by the acknowledged 
literary leader of a political coterie. 



1875] 



Politics and the Press, 



47 



English joarnalism represents in- 
terests, French journalism repre- 
sents opinions. It is as the repre- 
sentative antl custodian of preat 
national interests that the Times 
speaks every morning urbi et orhi ; 
and for the Times to connect those 
functions with the names of its 
individual agents would be alike 
a superfluity and an impertinence. 
Whether France will ever have a 
Times of its own simply depends on 
the contingency of French union 
ever being completed. If that re- 
sult is obtained a French Times will 
appear, and the system of signed 
articles will go. 

Yet even under the present 
system the number of living 
Frenchmen who are indebted for 
political eminence to journalism 
is insignificant, and as the fact is 
one upon which a widespread de- 
lusion centres in England, it is 
worth while to specify a few details. 
At the head of the list must be 
placed the name of Thiers, whose 
leading articles helped to bring 
down the monarchy of Charles X., 
and who was one of the journalists 
that signed the famous protest 
against the ordinances. But it is 
more than thirty years since M. 
Thiers left the press for the tribune, 
and it is in the present day almost 
as much forgotten of him that he 
was a journalist as it is ignored that 
Mr. Lowe was once a regular con- 
tributor to the Times. M. Thiers, 
in fact, ceased to be a journalist 
almost at as early an age as Guizot, 
who will be remembered as a pro- 
fessor and a politician rather than 
the author of pamphlets and leading 
articles. If Armand Carel had not 
fallen in a duel by the pistol of 
Emile de Girardin he would have 
presented a more apposite instance 
than either of the foregoing. As 
editor of the National he was rapidly 
becoming the leader of the Repub- 
lican party in the time of Charles 
X., and he would probably have 
become in due time a rival to Thiers 

VOL. XU. — NO. LXVII. NEW SERIES. 



or Guizot in the Chamber of De- 
puties. As for Emile de Girardin 
himself, though he has never held 
office, he has always been a promi- 
nent politician, summoned to counsel 
cabinets and to advise kings. It 
was at his instance that Louis 
Philippe fled. Louis Blanc and St. 
Marc Girardin are both of them 
men whose stepping-stone to power 
and fame was their gray goose-quill 
or its metallic equivalent. M. 
Louis Blanc still lives, but 
St. Marc Girardin has gone now 
to the majority, and was at the time 
of his death a Vice-President of the 
National Assembly, as well as a re- 
spectably influential politician. Per- 
haps Prevost Paradol is the most 
conspicuous instance of political 
promotion due exclusively to jour- 
nalistic achievement. He was made 
Minister at Washington solely be- 
cause he was by universal consent 
the best political writer in France ; 
and had it not been for the patriotic 
misgivings with the policy of the 
Imperial Government on the eve of 
the Franco-Prussian war, which 
overpowered his reason, and caused 
him, in the spirit of one of the heroes 
of Tacitus, ' to anticipate disaster 
by death,* he would long ere now 
have been elevated to the dignity 
of a Cabinet Minister. If, however, 
we exclusively confine ourselves 
to instances of living men, we shall 
find that the French journalists who 
are confessedly political forces may 
almost be counted on the fingers 
of one hand. Some have been 
already mentioned ; there remain 
Challamel Lacour, chief writer for 
La Bepublique FranK^aute, one of the 
most powerful speakers on the Left, 
and Gambetta as first lieutenant; 
Scherer, another Deputy, and one 
of the chief writers for the Temps ; 
Lockroy, another Deputy, and a 
steady contributor to the Bappd, 

Now, though it must be admitted 
that English journalism can show 
nothing like this, there is reason to 
believe that the tendencyof things in 



48 



Foliiics and the Press, 



France at the present day is towards 
the condition which has been long 
since realised in England, namely, 
the absorption by the National 
Assembly of the ability which has 
at an eai'lier period found a field for 
itself in the press, and the super- 
session by Parliament of the func- 
tions of journalism. The press in 
France is no longer the natural 
path and the most convenient pre- 
paratory discipline for the Senate, 
which it was in the reign of Louis 
Philippe. The French journalist 
then enjoyed a position as nearly as 
possible analogous to that occupied 
by the political pamphleteers — them- 
selves journalists essentially, and 
ihe connecting link between jour- 
nalism and literature^ — in the epoch 
of Queen Anne. Then Swift was 
a great power, because he was a 
powerful writer of periodical dia- 
tribes against the Whigs. Steele 
became a member of Parliament be- 
cause he performed the same office 
against the Tories, and the Bight 
Honourable Joseph Addison was 
made a Minister of State because 
he was the .best poUtical writer on 
the Whig side. That was an age 
of keen party strife, of intrigue and 
cabal, and of intense national ex- 
citement. By degrees that excite- 
ment subsided, and the practice was 
introduced of reporting the debates 
of Parliament. In proportion as 
publicity was given to those the 
power of the journalist declined. 
He ceased to give the initiative in 
the department of legislation or in 
the afiairs of State ; he followed 
opinion instead of leading it, and 
he found himself and his occupation 
at a discount. Lately courted and 
caressed, he was now neglected and 
despised. A nearly identical order 
of things has prevailed in France, 
fievolutionary disturbance and a 
rigid system of centralisation have 
given the French press a pecuHar 
power, which has often been exclu- 
sively wielded by small bodies of 
Parisians. The most eminent French- 



men, it has been seen, wei 
writers for that Parisian prea 
most eminent Englishmen w€ 
writers for the press of I 
In England the most distin| 
politicians have long ago 
their connection with joun 
they speak in Parliament i 
Before long a similar consunc 
will have been reached in '. 
Already the first French politi 
their day find it no longer wor 
while to write leading artic 
go direct for a seat in the Asj 
It may be that before the < 
is out the assimilation of the 
system of journalism to the ] 
will be complete. 

Nothing like even the n 
form of direct Parliament 
presentation of which the 
press can boast is observj 
England. There are of cours 
members of Parliament wh 
written leading articles, and 
which have had the force of 
aricles ; but so there are man 
bers of Pall Mall Clubs, and ) 
of many fair drawing-roon 
have done the same thin 
is not so many years age 
Lord Salisbury was a regul^ 
writer for the Siandurd, but 
was only a peer in prospecik 
a mind that was not satisfie 
out some active occupation, 
income which made the jour 
honorarium at least a consid* 
Both Lord Salisbury and Lo 
narvon still write articles 
Quarterly Review, but no pei 
inducement would elicit fron 
of them a leader for the penn; 
Mr. Disraeli has been conne 
his time with literature, but 
indignantly repudiated the i 
tion of any connection with j 
ism. Sir Stafford Northcc 
been a Quarterly and an Ed 
B<eviewer, but never a jou 
Lord Pembroke, who has j 
signed the Under- Secretaryi 
War, has written leading i 
Amongst the literary or ] 



Politics and the Press, 



49 



y members of Parliament may 
ntioned Mr. G. 0. Trevelyan, 
)mpetition Wallah, and the 
? of the best literary, political, 
^demic squibs since the days 
) Anti'Jacobiii ; Mr. Evelyn 
f and Sir Henry Drummond 

contribntors to the deftmct 
Mr. Knatchbull-Hngessen, 
Grant Duff, Mr. Edward 
as ; Sir Charles Dilke, who, 
operation with Lady Dilke, 
ced Prince Florestan (an imi- 

of Bahagas) ; and of course 
Lowe. There are various 
letors of newspapers, though 
3nt for the most part 
lelves of literary aspira- 
and capacities, who may be 

direct representatives of the 
in the Senate. Mr. Sullivan, 
has of late occasioned the 
3 of Commons much in- 
nience by his anxiety to 

the question of the Press v. 
iment to a head, is the sole 
• of the Nation. Mr. Walter, 
Callan, Mr. Newdegate, and 
Torley are also newspaper pro- 
rs, and it may be said that at 
•esent time there are only two 
m journals — the Standard and 
)aily Telegraph — which have 
sntlemen personally interested 
ir influence and success accom- 
fced with seats in the House 
tnmons. In her biographical 
1 of the seventh Lord Strang- 
better known as Canterbury 
he, Lady Strangford mentions 

George Smythe was the first 
>er of the aristocracy who 
le a steady contributor to the 
; the first man of rank who 
le definitely and habitually 
cted with a daily newspaper.' 
B was disposed to be micro- 
5, one might probably take ex- 
m to the manner in which 

Strangford describes a great 
L EngUsh journalism, but in a 
al sense her language is correct 
^h, and there can be no doubt 
in the present day the aristo- 



cratic prejudice against journalism 
so far survives that if a gentleman 
with a title allows his irrepressible 
yearning after lettered distinction 
to find its outlet in the daily or 
weekly newspapers, it is whispered 
by his friends tiiat he has taken to 
journalism in much the same tone 
as it might be mmoured that he had 
taken to drink. 

But though many of those most 
interested in the welfare of the 
press are active politicians, that is 
a circumstance which constitutes 
no argument in favour of the 
hypothesis that the press in its 
existing form is or can be in 
England an independent political 
power — with the sole exception of 
the Times, I have already said that 
in purely social matters, and even 
in the case of proved and rampant 
abuses, which are only semi-social in 
their character, the press may and 
must continue an independent 
power. But as regards the origina- 
tion and initiation of political ideas, 
to suppose that so long as party 
journalism is a recogmsed insHtu- 
tion it can be this, is to suppose 
what is absolutely impossible. What 
would be said of a journal of 
literary or artistic criticism, which 
announced beforehand that it was 
established for the purpose of 
supporting all the books or 
pictures that were given to the 
world by one particular school of 
authors or artists? Yet the ab- 
surdity which would in this hypo- 
thetical instance be realised is ab- 
solutely identical with that which 
party journalism represents and 
perpetuates. But it is worth 
bearing in mind that the strongest 
partisan papers command their 
circulation, not because they are 
partisans, but because they are 
well-conducted organs — because 
they are informatory and instruc- 
tive or amusing and entertaining. 
The Daily News is. the best edited 
daily paper in London ; the Daily 
Telegraph is said to be the most 

E 2 



60 



Politics aiid the "Press, 



* spicily ' written ; the Standard, is 
the biggest ; the Hour is reputed hy 
many the most convenient in ar- 
rangement. In all these respects 
the penny press has nothing to be 
ashamed of, and I believe it to be 
very doubtfal if it would at all in- 
jure its prospects by launching upon 
a bold course of political inde- 
pendence instead of adhering to 
the truckling traditions of sub- 
serviency. Certain at least it 
is that this is the only way in 
which the press can secure an in- 
fluence in political matters at all com- 
mensurate with its social influence. 
Take once more the example of the 
Times. The Tivfies has by po means 
such a monopoly of information, or 
of what is called ' talent.' But it 
lins made good its claim for im- 
partiality, and therefore its political 



utterances carry weight. If 
not a power as regards the 
duction of measures, it is at 1 
power in the course of their d 
sion. And this is more than ai 
of the professedly party papers 
day can be said to be. Perhap 
more than it is possible they s 
be. Yet to aim at such an < 
an ambition not unworthy 
great institution, as the news 
press of England is. Mr. Sul 
two months ago, asserted th 
* espied* strangers, in the in 
of the dignity of the press, 
the true dignity of the press ^ 
be promoted by its ceasing 
an appendage of the Hon 
Commons, or by its emancif 
from these trammels of partisa 
which it is now content to wei 




51 



HE DEBATE AS TO THE FOURTH GOSPEL. 



ithor of an essay such as 
on the literarj character 
nrth Gospel, in the March 
of this Magazine, could 
iticipato that his work 
oain without reply. Ear- 
able reply would be not 
fxpectation, but his hope, 
it* he were a true and 
an, it would be his desire 
lis views were unsound, 
should be conclusive. 

therefore, with a feeling 
ide that I learned that a 
hat article was forthcom- 
the pen of a Doctor of Di- 
lichever might be the uni- 
ustrated by his learning. 
Lng, however, was some- 
nmed by the discovery 
method adopted by the 
it had rather been that 
traditionally recommended 
unsel whose case is weak 
, to abuse the plaintiti's 
-than the graver and more 

criticism which the en- 
mperatively demands, 
per now under discussiou, 
its outcome is unfavour- 
>he authority of the book 
:«d, did not originate in any 
attack a work of such dig- 
interest. The object was 

It was an endeavour to 
one of the most important 

in literature, that sure 
method to which we owe 
ve hold of positive truth. 

uneven the steps with 
) path was followed, such 
direction and aim. The 
5 an attempt to present, 
and condensed form, an 
of thoughts and studies 
rsued through many years, 
lually led the enquirer to a 
y widely removed from 
h, when the century was 
) assumed to be indisput- 



I. 



It is, therefore, not without justice 
that I complain of the adoption by 
Dr. Edersheim of that line of con- 
troversy which I before deprecated 
in the briefer criticism of Mr. Hill. 
To recommend the readers of a 
paper in which the author states 
his case,- cites his authorities, and 
draws his conclusions, with an at- 
tempt at logical method, to consult 
a whole library of books, chiefly 
German, in which it is stated 
that confutation, which it is not 
convenient to put in compact form, 
is to be found, is actually to 
defer and obscure the decision of 
vital issues plainly put. It is^a me- 
thod of defence which, if attempted 
before our ordinary tribunals, com- 
mands neither sympathy nor victory. 
The questions raised are questions 
of fact. The evidence is cited. 
The witnesses are open to cross- 
examination. Ifthey are unshaken, 
and if no rebutting evidence of 
sufficient weight is brought be- 
fore the jury, the cause is decided. 
To say that without the court is 
a large body of respectable witnesses 
who are prepared to overwhelm 
those actually called (whether true 
or otherwise) is only regarded as a 
rhetorical subterfuge. It may dazzle 
and confuse the audience, but it is 
entirely disregarded by the judge. 

Of the shadowy host of arguments 
for which Dr. Edersheim refers his 
readers to a score of authors, only 
one is intimated with sufficient 
clearness to allow of examination. 
Mr. Sanday is cited as showing that 
the Fourth Evangelist makes use 
* of the Old Testament, not only in 
the LXX. version, but in the Hebrew 
text itself.' Whatever inference 
might be drawn from such a pecu- 
liarity, if it existed, the first ques- 
tion is one of fact. As to this it is 
proper to consult, not a modern 
author, however admirable, but the 
Greek Gospel, the Septuagint, and 



52 



The Debate as to tlie Fourth Gospel. 



the Hebrew Bible. Thus tested, 
the assertion proves to be absolutely 
contrary to the truth. Twenty-six 
quotations from, or references to, 
the Bible occur in the Fourth 
Gospel. Of these four are taken 
verbatim from the LXX. ; two of 
them being exact translations of 
the Hebrew,^ and two not being 
exact.^ Eight are inexact, either 
as quotations or as translations, 
although they may have been 
memoriter quotations from the 
LXX.^ Thirteen are so vague, 
that it is hardly possible to guess 
to what they refer.* One is not 
only a misquotation of the language, 
but an entire perversion of the 
sense of the Pentateuch.* The 
difference between the method of 
the rhetorician and that of the 
student is illustrated by the above 
comparison. 

The author is justified in con- 
sidering that, before the publication 
of a reply of the wholly unhesitat- 
ing nature of Dr.Edersheim*s paper, 
the arguments which he has him- 
self adduced should have been care- 
fully weighed and exhaustively in- 
vestigated. They have been con- 
fined to a few very distinct issues, 
which he has a right to demand 
should be treated in some degree of 
order and method, distinctly met, 
and approved or denied for reasons 
as to the value of which the readers 
of the two papers would be enabled 
to form a judgment; while at 
the same time they should be fur- 
nished with the means of verifying 
the statements made. Any argu- 
ments of the author of which no 
notice is taken, or to which no ade- 
quate answer is given, in such a 
reply, must be taken as established 
e conjesso, K in the course of de- 
bate it be shown that the author 



has been guilty of errors, e: 
the statement of fact or in ii 
from fact, the importance c 
errors to the controversy -' 
pend absolutely on the ii 
they exert on the course of 
gument. Thus, even if it b< 
that F. R. C. is a very sli^ 
feeble advocate, such a fa 
not affect the issues raisec 
sole question is, How ar 
issues to be decided ? 

It is therefore matter oi 
regret to be compelled to pc 
that the first, and the wei 
considerations adduced in thi 
paper are altogether avoidec 
respondent. In a volunteei 
elaborate reply, all that is sa 
what most readers will rej 
the main issue is, that certa 
persons, by arguments not 
duced, have elsewhere ann 
the deductions of F. R. C. . 
which attempted an impai 
vestigation is attacked with 
eager wrath of the controve 
Why does the assailant conte 
self with contradicting (wit 
right we shall presently 
many minor and comparati^ 
important opinions of the 
and avoid grappling with t 
of the argument ? 

The enquiry raised as 
literary character of the 
Grospel was twofold. The fii 
which is one as to which eve 
man who can think clearly cj 
some opinion, related to the 
dictions, whether real or aj 
between certain definite dc 
that book and the correspoi 
or rather contrasted — statei 
the other three Evangelist; 
second part related to the coi 
tions, whether real or appar 
tween the Fourth Gospel an 



ii. 17 — xix. 24. 



-.. -, -.— . -.^. 2 X. 34— xii. 38. 

' i. 23 — vi. 45 — xii. 15 — xii.40 — xiii. 18 — xv. 25 — xix. 36 — xix. 37. 
• i. 45 — iv. 37 — v. 46-— vi. 31 — vii. 38 — vii. 42 — viii. 5 — xi. 50 — xii. 34— x 



xix. 28 — XX. 9. 

* viii. 17. 



1875] 



The Debate as to the Fourth Gospel, 



53 



literary authority. To most readers 
the first part of the investigation 
will prove at once the most inte- 
resting and the most easy to follow. 
It is, however, altogether blinked 
in a paper described as a reply. 

The life of Jesns Christ is natu- 
rally and sharply divided into the 
two distinct portions of private and 
public. According to the Synoptic 
Evangelists, the occasion of the 
commencement of the latter was 
the imprisonment of John the Bap- 
tist by Herod Antipas, Tetrarch of 
Galilee. According to the Fourth 
Evangelist, Jesus appeared in a 
public character at Jerusalem, ob- 
tained there many disciples, came 
with His disciples into the land of 
Judea, tarried with them, and bap- 
tised, while John was baptising at 
-^non ; ' for John was not yefc cast 
into prison.' Whichever date ac- 
tually formed the limit between the 
private and the public life, the 
former was marked, according to 
the Synoptic narratives, by the 
occurrence of twenty-one distinct 
events, of critical importance ; eight- 
een of which were of the character 
which we ordinarily call super- 
natural. Thus we have an account 
of an appropriate preparation for 
the assumption, by Jesus, on the 
removal of John from the scene of 
his labours, of the character of a 
pubUc teacher. It is necessary to 
be acquainted with these details 
in order to understand many parts 
of the subsequent narrative. The 
whole of this important part of the 
biography is ignored by the Fourth 
Evangelist, whose account covers 
only so much of the period in ques- 
tion as extends from the baptism of 
Jesus to the imprisonment of John. 
As to the position of Jesus during 
that brief time, the latter author con- 
tradicts the other writers. He also 
omits from his narrative the account 
of the baptism of Jesus, and of the 
descent of the Holy Spirit ; although 
it is mentioned that John saw the 
latter portent, without reference to 



the circumstances under which it 
occurred. 

After the baptism, according to the 
Synoptic Evangelists, immediately 
followed the ibrty days' tempta- 
tion in the desert ; the occasion for 
which seems to be carefully ex- 
cluded by the frequently repeated 
dates of the fourth narrator. The 
commencement of the preaching of 
Jesns, on His heajing of the im- 
prisonment of JoJj;i, succeeds, ac- 
cording to one ft«:connt, but not 
according to tho other. The call 
of the Apostles, the subsequent 
nomination of the Seventy, the 
enquiry of John as to the claims of 
Jesus to be the Messiah, the great 
wonder and glory of the trans- 
figuration, the performance of 
twenty-nine specially described 
miracles, besides numerous others 
only incidentally referred to, the 
toil of forty journeys (unless some 
of them are more than once men- 
tioned), the delivery of that grand 
ethical discourse known as the 
sermon on the mount, and the 
speaking of twenty-seven of those 
unrivalled parables which the first 
Evangelist declares to have been 
the invariable form of the ad- 
dresses of Jesus to the people, 
are the main incidents of the 
public Hfe down to the journey to 
Jerusalem for the fatal Passover. 
Out of this portion of the sacred 
biography, comprising almost the 
whole time during which the actions 
of Jesus appear to have been un- 
controlled by any interference on 
the part of the High Priest and 
Senate, the only events that can be 
positively identified as described 
accordantly by the S3moptics and 
by the fourth Evangelist are the 
feeding of the 5,000 in the desert 
and the subsequent walk on the 
sea. Even these are coupled, in 
the Fourth Gospel, with a state- 
ment that Jesus withdrew from the 
multitude who sought to make Him 
a king ; a point not noted by either 
of the three Evangelists, and hard 



54 



The Delate as to the Fmirth Ooapel. 



[Mj 



in any way to reconcile with their 
general narrative. 

Thus with the account of the 
wonderful birth and youthful and 
private life of Jesus entirely 
omitted, with the dates and circum- 
stances of both the commencement 
and the close of the public life dis- 
crepantly stated, with the body of 
the biographic narrative every way 
different, and with the doctrines 
and method of teaching altogether 
dissimilar to the representations of 
the three Evangelists, the Fourth 
Gospel presents, at all events, prima 
facto contradictions to the other 
three, which the writer of a pro- 
fessed reply to the statement of the 
diflBculty makes no attempt to ex- 
plain. Until it can be shown tbat 
it is possible for both the SjTioptic 
and the Fourth Gospels to be ac- 
curate chronicles of historic truth, it 
is, perhaps, somewhat premature to 
pass to the criticism of the second 
portion of the investigation. To 
most readers it would prove more 
acceptable to make some attempt 
to remove the accumulated diffi- 
culties which arise from an attempt 
to collate the four Gospels, than 
to hasten in the first place to eluci- 
date or to obscure those which 
result from the collation of the 
Fourth Gospel with other portions 
of literature. 

That a strong Jewish element is 
present in the Fourth Gospel, as to 
which Dr. Edersheini is .so insistent, 
has never been questioned by me. 
The doubt which I have brought 
forward is not as to that, but as to 
the acquaintance of the Fourth 
Evangelist with the laws, customs, 
and circumstances of the Jews of 
the Holy Land during the Hfctime 
of Christ, which is a totally dif- 
ferent matter. Unless distinctions 
be maintained between things that 
differ, honest enquiry is impossible. 
That the Fourth Evangelist did not 
attempt to write on a subject of 
which he knew nothing hardly 
needs to be said. That he possessed 



definite sources of information, 
however he thought fit to employ 
them, is as certain as that he took 
a deep and fervent interest in the 
object for which he, or his col- 
leagues, says that the Gospel was 
written. The book must, of neces- 
sity, have been either anterior, 
similar, or posterior in date, as com- 
pared with the Third Gospel. The 
first hypothesis is not one that is 
usually put forward, as it would 
be open to the remark that the 
Evangelist who told us that he had 
diligently studied all circumstances 
from the very first, on the* testi- 
mony of actual witnesses, had 
ignored, and even apparently con- 
tradicted, a narrative from so 
authoritative a writer as the Apostle 
John. But unless the date were 
thus early, the Fourth Gospel was 
written after many had taken in 
hand to set forth in order a declara- 
tion of the things believed amongst 
those whom the author addressed. 
In other words, the materials for 
history were extant, and were ex- 
clusively Jewish materials. Nay, 
more ; they were, as far as they were 
first-hand, exclusively Judean mate- 
rials. Gathered and stored up in 
Palestine, they would be redolent 
of their native country ; and the 
only question is, not whence cam© 
the Jewish element in the Fourth 
Gospel, but whence and how cam© 
that element which is not only non- 
Judean, but anti-Judean. 

It must be painful to any exact 
student to read such depreciatory 
remarks as those by which Dr. 
Edersheim endeavours to throw dis- 
credit on one of the most venerable 
literary monuments of the world. 
The expression * Mishnic or Tal- 
mudic Tractate' shows that this 
depreciation is based on an unscho- 
larly confusion of the Mishna — 
which, independently of any higher 
claim, possesses definite legislative 
authority — with the Gheraara, which 
is a collection of comments of every 
imaginable nature. The two groups 



1875] 



The Debate as to tjie Fourth Oospel, 



55 



of writings differ as widely as the 
Statutes at Large differ from the 
works of Shakespeare. With re- 
gard to the Mishna, while it is true 
that very few definite dates are 
given by any Rabbinical writer, the 
series of High Priests, Presidents 
of the Sanhedrin, and Fathers of 
the Council are known ; and the 
greater number of decisions which 
are of later date than the High 
Priest Simon the Just (b.c. 300) are 
determinable, not to a year, but to 
a generation, by the relation borne 
by the authors to their contempo- 
raries and predecessors. 

In the words of the most famous 
Semitic scholar who has used the 
English language in our time, ' we 
have an array of carefully preserved 
historical rames and dates from 
beginning to end ; names and dates 
the general faithfulness and truth 
of which have never yet been called 
in question.' ^ 

The statement that 'constantly 
later practices are ascribed to earlier 
authorities * is inapplicable to the 
Mishna. It is entirely opposed 
to the statements of the gravest 
writers, such as Maimonides, a man 
whose shoe-latchet very few Hebrew 
students have ever been worthy to 
unloose, whether we regard his im- 
mense erudition, his untiring in- 
dustry, his unusual and winning 
candour, his deep piety, or the pre- 
cision and occasional poetic beauty 
of his language. Maimonides di- 
vides the precepts of the ^Mishna 
into five classes. These are (i) 
the direct inferences from the lan- 
guage of the Pentateuch, or the 
interpretations ascribed to Moses 
himself; (2) the traditional pre- 
cepts known as the Constitutions 
of Mount Sinai, as to which, as 
well as with regard to the former 
class, there is no question among 
the doctors of the Law; (3) the 
various sentences, derived from 
foregoing precepts, as to which dis- 



cussion has arisen among the sages, 
the decision taken being that of the 
majority of the Senate; (4) the 
decrees established by prophets 
and sages on definite occasions as 
* hedges of the Law,* as to which 
local or provincial differences of 
observance are acknowledged to 
exist ; (5) the legal determination 
of questions, or the legislation of 
the Jewish Senate. 

The very form of these successive 
determinations of certain details of 
faith and practice is essentially 
chronoJogical. Although it was 
not until the close of the second, 
and commencement of the third, 
century of the Christian era, that 
the Mishna wiis arranged in its 
existing form by Rabbi Judah the 
Saint, there is evidence in the Gos- 
pels that the oral Law had been, at 
all events partially, committed to 
writing by the time of the Evan- 
gelists. It is said to have been 
taken down in the form of notes by 
rabbi after rabbi, each for his own 
use, from the lips of his preceptor ; 
and the supposition is eminently 
probable. That no change has ever 
glided into the oral Law is a state- 
ment which, though held by many 
Jews, is difiicult of proof; but that an 
oral supplement to the Pentateuch, 
such as the most ancient parts of 
the Mishna represent, must have 
been coeval with the written Law, 
there can be no doubt. Such supple- 
ment was necessary for two reasons 
— one, to explain passages of the 
Mikra, or written Law, that would 
have been unintelligible without 
authoritative explanation; the other, 
to prevent definite ordinances, such 
as that of the Feast of Tabernacles, 
from dwindling to mere conven- 
tional observances. 

I am unaware what constitutions 
Dr. Edersheim attributes to * the 
patriarchs.' Those ascribed to 
Moses, Joshua, David, Solomon, 
and eleven succeeding princes or 



■ Litirary }tirnain$ ^f the late E, DeuUch, p. 138. 



56 



TIw Debate as to the Fourth Oospel. 



[July 



pontiffs have all the verisimilitude of 
tmthfal tradition. We may take 
for example the prohibition to a 
Jew to be alone with any Jewess 
except his wife. This injunction is 
now held to be binding. It is not 
to be found in the Pentateuch. It 
is ascribed to the ordinance of 
David on the occasion of the great 
crime of his son Amnon. Had it 
been in existence at the time, that 
crime could not have occurred. No 
subsequent period of Jewish history 
can bo pointed out at which it is so 
probable that such a wise provision 
should have been made imperative. 
We have thus every mark of au- 
thenticity that can attach to a long 
unwritten tradition ; and the student 
will not admit that evidence of this 
nature is to be annihilated by a 
sneer. 

The object of the confounding of 
the Mishna with the Ghemara, and 
the consequent depreciation of the 
chronological notes afforded by the 
former, is to conceal the anachron- 
isms which vitiate certain favourite 
rhetorical commonplaces. Thus, 
in an essay on Prayer, Fuhlic and 
Private,'^ Dr. Edersheim has allowed 
himself to say that certain prayers 
quoted in the petitions of the.Lord*s 
Prayer are of much later date than 
the latter — a statement in making 
which considerable rehance must 
have been placed on the ignorance 
of the reader. It is admitted uni- 
versally that Jesus and his Apostles 
used the language of Jewish devo- 
tion. It is certain that Jewish 
doctors would not borrow devo- 
tional forms from Christian Gospels. 
It follows that such a statement as 
we have cited throws discredit on 
the Gospels, and makes out the 
Lord's Prayer to be an anachronism. 

Dr. Edersheim admits his inability 
to reconcile the tract Middoth with 



the statements of Josephus. That 
the case is attended with difiGiculiy 
there is little doubt, although a 
modern writer® has shown that 
the difficulty has been exaggerated. 
The patient and accurate stndy 
which should be brought to bear oa 
the point is hardly evinced by the 
quotation given &om an erroneous 
translation of a crabbed passage in 
the tract. As to the real meaning 
of the Mishna in question, no 
reasonable doubt can be entertained. 
Maimonides, I^artenora, and Con- 
stantine L'Empereur are in exact 
accord. Indeed it is impossible to 
introduce the idea of excommunica- 
tion without involving a contradic- 
tion in terms. The passage intimates 
that it was imperative on all who 
entered the Mountain of the Honse, 
bj whatever gate, to move to their 
right hand, and to leave the pre- 
cincts by a gate on the opposite 
side of the enclosure. If one indis- 
position which it is not necessary 
to particularise, but of references 
to which the Talmud is only too 
full, befell anyone in the precincts, 
he was at once to leave the stream 
of worsliippers, by turning to the 
left ; and to leave the Court either 
by the nearest gate or by the gate 
Tadi. Had the disqualification 
occurred earlier in the day, the 
patient could not have set foot on 
the Mountain of the House. Mom 
iompUj says the Mishna, sanc^ 
est isto, quia m ipsum iion ascendent 
Zahim.^ The persons who, after 
the fall of the Jewish polity, were 
struck by the minor sentence of 
Niddui, were forbidden to enter aft 
assembly often persons.^® Thus to 
sayjthat ' those who were under the 
ban entered the temple by the left 
hand,' is to contradict an explicit 
and well-known law, and to make 
absolute nonsense of a passage as 



' Bible Educator, vol. x. p. 240. 

• Edinburgh Renew, Jan. 1873. 

• Kelim, i. 8. 

'• Lex. Talmud, fo. 1305. 



The JDebcUe as to the Fourth Gospel. 



57 



meaning of which, though 
ording is obscure, there 
doubt among scholars. 
lolar who read the whole 
6 passage could sup- 
tiat the reply which Con- 
B L'Empereur truly tran- 
hiia ego coivtaminatiis rejicior^^ 
QETe so absurd a meaning as 
ersheim gives to it. Neither 
three words denoting ex- 
nication is employed in the 
5, nor is it possible that such 
neiation should befall any- 
mischance in the Temple, 
ord mistranslated occurs in 
xliv. 15, where it is tran- 
' shame.' Will Dr. Eders- 
to be consistent, exconmiu- 
bhe Psalmist ? 

ing now to the indignant 
iation of * how history is 
icted, and how the non- 
authorship of the Fourth 
is to be demonstrated from 
sources,' ifc may be as well 
irk that for an author who is 
ed as to space to follow what 
;iders the most reliable autho- 
writhout stopping to discuss 
eight, is one thing ; to evince 
ice of a nature to render his 
worthless is another. Dr. 
eim says that he is unac- 
d with the works of the Ahh6 
li. This author is a profound 
; of Jewish hterature, having 
jd over Europe to collate 
I copies and editions of the 
i, of which he undertook the 
tion into French. He was 
ior of Oriental Languages and 
ities in the Royal University 
psaw, Member of the Asiatic 
ographical Societies of Paris, 
nan not unworthy to take up 
ntle of the great students of 
cteenth and seventeenth cen- 



turies. What he says of the Ka- 
raites is this : *^ 

La secte des Karaites, dont Torigine est 
inccrtaine, mais que le Talmud envisage 
comme un rejeton de la secte des Saddue^ens. 
Elle regarde la Bible, et Don la tradition, 
comme parole divinement inspiree, et rare- 
ment se sert de la derni^re pour interpreter 
la premiere. II parait que c'est de la 
boucbe do quelques docteurs Karaites que 
sont sorties plusieurs remarques critiques 
sur la manifere de lire et d'interpr^ter la 
Bible, que Ton rencontre par intervalles 
dans Ics deux Talmuds, ct que Ton attribue 
aux Scribes. 

Li stating it to be 'a matter of 
historical fact' that the sect of 
the Karaites only originated in the 
seventh or eighth century, Dr. 
Edersheim, no doubt, exposes 
ignorance; but it is not that of 
F. R. C. The name of the sect 
occurs in the Talmud. Citing the 
tract Meghilla (cap. 3, p. 24, edit. 
Amstelod.), in his comments on De 
Principio Anni, 2, i., Houtingius 
says, * Est mos Garaitarum ! ex quo 
clare patet illos esse antiquiores 
saeculo 8, cum nomen D^KIp jam 
tritum fait Misnicis auctoribus, 
quod, ante me, nemo puto ob- 
servavit.* The note in question 
discusses at length the diflFerence 
between the Karaites and the 
Sadducees ; the strict adherence of 
the former to the actual observation 
of the mooD, a matter only held to 
be incumbent in the Holy Land; 
and the revival of the sect in the 
eighth century by Ananias and his 
son Saul . That the existence of a sect 
holding the views of the Sadducees 
as to the Law, although not sharing 
their doubts as to a fature life, is 
of extreme antiquity, is indubitable. 
It would, perhaps, not be incorrect 
to describe such views as forming the 
very backbone of orthodox Judaism. 
In that sense, and on that authority 



Imudis Bahylonici Codex Middoth sive de Mensuris Tempi i, und cum versione 
Opera et Studio CofiMantini VEmpereur de Oppykk. Lugduni Batavoreum. 
. Acad. Typ., 1630, p. 38. 
oUgomknea de la Version du Talmud. Leipsic, 183 1, p. 103. 



58 



The Debate as to the Fourth Oos^peL 



the word was used in the paper On 
the Literary Character of the Fourth 
Gospel, Even if the word had been 
inaccurately appb'ed, the gist of the 
remark would be unaffected ; but, in 
point of fact, the word is applied 
on unquestionable authority. 

As Dr. Edersheim asserts that 
* no very definite reason * is given 
for the suggestion as to the author- 
ship of the Third Gospel, it is per- 
haps desirable to restate the argu- 
ment put forward. It is simply this. 
If a narrator always says we, when 
A and B are together, and always 
says HE or they when A is alone, or 
in company with any other persons 
without B, it is inferred that he 
intimates his identity with B. If 
that be the ease, the author of the 
Acts of the Apostles intimates that 
he is Timotheus, This identifica- 
tion, indeed, has nothing to do with 
the authenticity of the Fourth Gos- 
pel. It is a literary hypothesis, based 
on a plain literary reason ; by the 
adoption of which certain difficul- 
ties may bo explained; and it is 
nothing more. If we were to dis- 
cover a Greek manuscript bearing 
the very autograph of the lATPOii 
whom Dr. Edersheim has so kindly 
furnished with a 'scientific' educa- 
tion, entirely on his own respon- 
sibility, it would be quite irrelevant 
to the argument which Dr. Eders- 
heim has undertaken to refute. 

As to the statement that Timothy 
assuredly could never have learned 
Jewish tradition from his mother, 
and that it is an incredible supposi- 
tion that a devout Jewess should 
have married a heathen, I confess 
that I prefer the direct testimony 
of the Apostle Paul and the Third 
Evangelist to that of Dr. Eders- 
heim. The former speaks of the 
instruction of Timothy from a child 
in the Holy Sciaptures, and of the 
unfeigned faith that dwelt in his 
mother and in his grandmother. 



The second says that his mot] 
a Jewess and her husband a 
and shows that he does nc 
a Greek of Jewish faith, b; 
ducing the fact that Timoi 
not undergone the initiatory 
rite ; the omission of which, 
part of a Jewish father, was 
pardonable sin. If Dr. Ed( 
relies on the use of the phras< 
ish tradition ' in a technical se] 
net in that in which it was 
used by the writer, name! 
Lore, he should be more ca 
assigning correct dates to hi: 
known historical facts.' A 
hibition of * the instruction 
men in traditional lore ' mu 
been considerably later th 
time of the famous Berui 
daughter of Rabbi Hanar 
wife of Rabbi Meir ; who 
scribed as no less learned tl 
husband, and who certainly; 
to no disadvantage by his sid 
two contests with heretics 
are described in the Ghemar 
tract Beracoth}^ A Baraiii 
in the same treatise^* says t 
female servants of Rabban 
liel were styled by the d 
title of mother, because ( 
high reputation. Thus evei 
Rabbinical authority relied 
show that my information is 
incorrect ' there is some 
for concluding that, after 
Apostle Paul gave a correct ; 
of the education and par 
Timothy. As Rabbi Meir d 
J 30, Beruria must have been 
date than Eunice. The exis 
Elizabeth, the wife of Za 
and of Anna, the daughter 
nuel, seems also to have b 
out of sight. 

I do, indeed, owe thanks 
Edersheim for the correctioi 
palpable blunder in referring 
subject. Whether it be a 
or a typographical error I 



" De BenedictioniliuSt i. 2. 
*• Idem, ii. 7. 



1875] 



The Delate as to the Fourth Ooapel. 



59 



course, equally responsible. That 
it was not of a graver description 
is clear from the fact that it obscures 
the argument which the reference 
to the comparative freedom of Jew- 
ish women was intended to enforce. 
It is quite true that * determined as 
to time ' is the proper language. 
But I think it is a graver error to 
speak of the Law as being unmis- 
takably laid down in the passage 
of Ghemara cited by Dr. Edersheim. 
This passage refers, indeed, to the 
Law. But the precept is contained 
not in a mere comment, but in 
the authoritative words of the 
Mishna. These are to be found in 
the tract De Spmisalibus, i. 7. The 
first Mishna of the tract De Sacns 
Solennihus also excepts women from 
the obligation of the yearly visits 
to Jerusalem. For these reasons, it 
seems to me, a woman would have 
been less likely to be acquainted 
with the watchwords of a sect than 
would a man. What is the cha- 
racter of the education which a boy 
may obtain from a pious mother is 
too well known to Englishmen for 
them to share in the sense of doubt 
expressed by Dr. Edersheim as to 
the religious training of Timothy. 

It is difficult to account for 
the flat contradictions which Dr. 
Edersheim risks with regard to 
the Kabbala, and, indeed, on many 
other points, on any principle ex- 
cept that of the diplomatic maxim, 
attributed to Talleyrand, that a 
peculiar kind of statement is as 
useful as the most genuine truth, 
provided only that it remain uncon- 
tradicted for a week. By that time, 
as the ex-Bishop of Autun ex- 
plained, the object would have been 
attained and the matter forgotten. 
Whatever may now be thought of 
this policy by diplomatic person- 
ages, its adoption in literature, 
happily for the cause of truth, is 
suicidal. I am at a loss to under- 
stand whether Dr. Edersheim de- 



nies that the author of the book 
Jetsira speaks, as the Abbe Chiarini 
states that he does, of the creation 
of the world by the Sephirim, or 
whether he denies the identity of 
the i^D^D, or word, with the AOFOS. 
In the first case I am content to 
refer to the authority of a scholar 
of such eminence as the learned 
author of the Theorie du Judazsmey 
as before cited. As to the second, 
I refer to the testimony of the well- 
known author of the learned work 
De Geneahgiis nuruiuam finiendis et 
fahulis Judaicu^ who can hardly be 
said to be wholly unacquainted 
with the subject. * Dicunt nimirum 
KabbalistaB quod Adam Kadmon 
sive Xoyoc Platonicus et Dei filins, 
producturus ista qu89 infra ipsum 
sunt omnia et singula emanantia.' »» 
This might almost be taken for a 
translation of the phrase x*^P*5: 
avTOv tyiviTo ovce er, o yiyovtv. This 
shows the value of the * unqualified 
denial ' of my incidental remark. 

The accusation of self-contradic- 
tion on my part is no less unsup- 
ported. The opinion stated is that it 
is impossible that the Fourth Gospel 
could have proceeded from the pen 
of a Jew of Judea, or a man fami- 
liar with Palestine, in the time of 
Christ. Whether the author were 
or were not an Egyptian or an 
Asiatic Jew no opinion was ex- 
pressed. The extreme bitterness 
with which he speaks of the people 
of Jerusalem, as * of their father 
the Devil,' is a strong argument for 
the view that Jewish blood ran in 
his veins. The acquaintance of 
foreign Jews with the most recon- 
dite and mystic perversions of the 
Divine Law will hardly be called 
in question. The acquaintance of 
a son of the fisherman Zebedee 
with matter so foreign to the 
writings of Peter, James, and the 
Synoptic Evangelists would be more 
difficult to understand. 

Having thus expended his fire on 



'* Joh, Mich, Langii, Noribergse, 1696, p. 58. 



60 



The Debate as to the Fourth Oospel, 



[July 



whafc he calls tlie outworks of the 
position, Dr. Edersheim proceeds 
to attempt the demolition of what 
he erroneously states to be the 
three leading arguments hy which 
F. R. G.*s conclusions are mainly- 
supported. The attack on the first, 
however, he is content to leave to 
the author of the Horce Hehraicce ; 
and to a German Encyclopaedia ; a 
relegation which is barely satis- 
fisictory to the ordinary English 
reader. Neither does he correctly 
state the points of which he proceeds 
so readily to dispose. To the word 
metretes no objection was raised ; as 
it is used in the Greek version of 
the Old Testament prepared under 
the auspices of the Ptolemies, and 
so much despised by the orthodox 
Jews, and as the words chous, me- 
dimmcs, and the like are used, 
although incorrectly, by Josephus. 
It is worth mention that the result 
has been an augmentation in the 
contents of the brazen laver of more 
than sixty per cent, in the first 
case, and hopeless confusion in the 
second. But the question is not as 
to the use of a Greek word in a 
Greek book, but as to indications of 
local knowledge furnished by the 
descriptions of a wedding feast and 
of a Jewish supper. Six hydrioe, 
containing from twenty to thirty 
gallons each, are described as stand- 
ing in the chamber. They are said 
to be of stone. The hydria is a fictile 
vessel with a comparatively small 
neck; and every potter, moulder, 
or mason is aware that to cut out 
the inside of such a vessel, if at- 
tempted in stone, would be a work 
of more than Chinese skill and 
patience ; in fact, a virtual impos- 
sibility. Neither is there any rela- 
tion between the contents of these 
vessels and the manner of the puri- 
fying of the Jews. The quantity 
of water required for pouring on 
the hands of each guest, before and 
after the meal, was an an^hak, or 
quarter 'log ; equivalent to '67 of an. 
English gill. For this purpose each 



of the vessels named would hare 
held enough water to supply from 
500 to 700 guests. An Aramaic 
equivalent for the word Hydria is 
Ohitzhah ; a fictile vessel which held 
nine Cahi, or 3*17 gallons. This 
quantity of water was allotted, by 
an authority of the third century, 
to a particular purification. But it 
is not more appropriate to the case 
in point than either the larger or 
the smaller measure. For the lavo' 
cnmi, or bath of Ezra, again, the 
vessels are fiEur too small, as the 
contents of the legal lavacrum were 
not to fall short of forty Sata, or 
more than eighty gallons. Nor was 
it in any way convenient to have 
vessels of the size indicated, for the 
purpose of legal purification, as any 
quantity of water less than forty 
Sata was liable to be rendered im- 
pure by the slightest cause, such as 
the touch of anyone who had touched 
the Roll of the Law, or anything 
technically unclean. The mere 
dipping a smaller vessel into it by 
a servant might have rendered the 
water unfit for legal purificatioiL 
The expressions used are thus in- 
consistent with Jewish habit. 

As to the indication of the Greek 
office of a master of the feast, it is 
difficult to see what support can 
be derived from a passage in Ecde- 
siasticus that speaks of the duties 
of a ruler (i/yov/icvoc). With re* 
gard to what is said as to the tri- 
clinium there is yet graver cause of 
complaint against the statements of 
Dr. Edersheim. The primary sense 
of that word, in which it is used by 
F. R. C, is that of the three-sidea 
couch on which the effeminate and 
luxurious Greeks, and the Romans 
when manners had become cor- 
rupted, reclined at feasts, crowned 
with flowers and more than half 
unclad. There is more than nega- 
tive evidence as to the opposition 
of this heathen habit to Jewish 
morality. To the present day the 
Arab and Felaheen population of 
Palestine, if invited to a feast, sit 



1875] 



The Debate as to the Fourth Gospel, 



61 



■ on the floor; on a divan, cushion, 
• or mat, if attainable. Good man- 
fc ners require precisely that modesty 
i in taking the lowest place, near the 
i door, which is enjoined in the Third 
I Gospel.^® Not only so, but it is held 
Ir to be an outrage on -propriety to 
I show the soles of the feet. The 
feet are tucked nnder the sitter in 
i the Orieutal mode of sitting ; they 
I are stretched out on the couch in 
I the heathen mode, as may be seen 
I in the frescoes of Pompeii. That 
I the Passover was eaten seated was 
pointed out by F. R. C. ; but the 
words special to the Fourth Gospel, 
ey T^ KoXTTtf) and eiri to ot^Ooc, refer 
to the heathen and not to the Jewish 
custom. Agaiu, the expression that 
lie who is washed has no need save 
to wash his feet is as inconsistent 
with Jewish rules, as the washing 
of feet in the midst of supper is in- 
credible without very definite proof. 
While ignoring all this chain of 
evidence, Dr. Edersheim quotes, 
with triumphant italics, the use of 
a Rabbinical word which may, very 
probably, be a transliteration of the 
Greek word triclinon or the Latin 
triclinmm. Besides the primary 
sense, in which F. R. C. used this 
word, it has the secondary sense of 
the chamber in which the couch 
was fixed, and Dr. Edersheim uses 
it in this sense. But what will be 
thought of his candOnr when it is 
known that, by transliterating in- 
stead of translating the word terJclin 
or ieraklin, in the quotation from 
the tract Capita Patrum (the correct 
quotation is iv. i6, not iv. 15), he 
has concealed the fact that the word 
signifies, not couch, nor yet dining- 
room, but palace. ^ Maimonides, 
Bartenora, Leusdenius, and Fagius, 
in commenting on this passage, 
each say, in so many words, Jvp"llD 
est Palatium. Mr. Deutsch quotes 
the very passage, with the transla- 
tion ' palace,' in his famous article 
on the Talmud. In the tract Mid^ 



doth (cap. i. sect. 6) the same He- 
brew word terJclin occurs, with the 
translation, by Constantino TEm- 
pereur, palatium vel Basilicam, It 
would have been difficult to imagine 
a more distinct proof that the Greek 
couch was not used in Palestine, 
than is furnished by the fact that 
the Aramaic word formed as an 
echo of its name has a totally 
different meaning. 

A like want, either of candour or 
that care which is demanded by the 
most ordinary respect for the reader, 
is displayed by the argument as 
to excommunication. I had occa- 
sion, in speaking of Dr. Edersheim's 
attack on the Mishna, to point out 
his mistranslation of a word that 
in the 46th Psalm is translated 

* shame,' but which he renders 

* excommunicated,' to the destruc- 
tion of the sense of the passage in 
which it occurs. The discussions 
on the subject of excommunication 
being long and involved, I referred 
the reader to the collection of them 
made by Buxtorf. I imagined that 
no one could carefully read the 
twenty-four causes by which, what 
Buxtorf in three places calls the 
lowest, and Dr. Edersheim calls the 
second, degree of excommunication 
was incurred, without being con- 
vinced that the entire arrangement 
must have been posterior to the fall 
of the Jewish polity ; presenting a 
very feeble substitute for the action 
of the legal tribunals, stante templo. 
Defaming a sage, for example, even 
after his death, is there put on the 
same level as the most tremendous 
crime punished with death, the 
taking the name of God in vain. 
The provision cited from Rabbi 
Solomon that a sage who had done 
anything foul was to be beaten, and 
not subjected to the Schammata, 
because of the honour of the Law, is 
another mark of the late origin of 
these rules. The passage which I 
formerly cited is from the same 



*• Luke xiv. 10. 



62 



TJie Debate as to the Fourth Gospel, 



folio. We cannot doubt that if ex- 
communication had been any part 
of either the written or the oral 
Law, it would have been prescribed 
in the Bible and in the Mishna. Its 
application to crimes for which 
these authorities prescribed definite 
punishments, is a proof that it 
could not have been in use when 
the Law itself was in force. The 
Acts of the Apostles, and the Epistles 
of St. Paul, fully confirm this fact. 

Dr. Edersheim's most violent re- 
probation, however, is called forth by 
my attempted explanation of what 
have hitherto been regarded as some- 
what inexplicable statements in the 
Synoptic account of the proceedings 
immediately preceding the cruci- 
fixion. In order to convict me of 
an error which, if it were an error, 
is as immaterial to the character of 
my hypothesis, as that hypothesis 
is to the question of the authen- 
ticity of the Fourth Gospel, he has 
hazarded assertions which I cannot 
reproduce without a shudder. That 
he has directly contradicted himself 
is the least extraordinary part of 
his arguments. 

A doubt exists, and has been de- 
bated at great length among Jewish 
scholars, whether the crime of tak- 
ing the name of God in vain, which 
is denounced by the 7 th verse of 
the 20th chapter of Exodus, and by 
the corresponding verse in the 5 th 
chapter of Deuteronomy, consisted 
simply in the pronunciation of the 
Divine Name, called the tetragram- 
maton, by any lips except those of 
the High Priest on the Day of Atone- 
ment ; or in language of a male- 
dictory nature coupled with such 
pronunciation. The weight of opi- 
nion is, as it seems to me, in favour 
of the first opinion. The use, by 
the Greek, Latin, French, English, 
Italian, and all other translators of 
the Bible with whose versions I am 
acquainted, of the words hu/jioc, 



Dominus, Tfiternel, the L( 
the like, when the tetragrc 
occurs in the Hebrew text, 
significant as to the gener 
Michael Arnoldus says,*^ in 
ment on that Mishna of t 
De Sacrijiciis- which, speaki 
utterance of the NAME on 
of Expiation, * nomen illui 
gramma ton pronunciabat, 
quam pridem audiverunt 
dotes, et populus qui erant 
incurvabant se, et procide 
faciem.' Coccejus,^** in his c 
on another treatise, after ex 
the applicability of the s 
malediction, and of cuttinj 
have been assigned to the 
the significance of which tl: 
hangs, says, ' Ergo ad terl 
currendum, qu89 est, ej 
secundum literas suas.* 
cites, from the commentary i 
Levi Ben Gerson, * Summr 
dos, semel in anno, in festc 
expiation is, nomen illud revc 
tetragrammaton mn^ ju 
literas quibus scrip turn < 
ferebat.' The noinoi e.vpoi 
explained by the same grea 
to be the Divine tetragrc 
explained and pronounced 
word Adonai, the Dominus 
Vulgate. It is urged in the 
on Dent, xxxii. that ev 
angels are not permitted i 
the NAME without the pi 
the trisagion. And the rei 
their clothes by Eliakim th 
Hilkiah and his com par 
attributed to their horror c 
ing the sacred Name pronou 
Rabshakeh. 

There is thus ample re 
conclude that the simple u 
of the tetragrammaton coe 
the crime of blasphemy, 
certain that, at all events, 
stituted the gravamen of tha 
The words of the Mishna an 
and unmistakable. ' Th- 



" Mishna, Latinitaie don. Guil, Sarenhusius, Pars v. p. 295. 
" Idem, pars iv. p. 242. 



1875] 



The Debate as to the Fourth Oospel, 



63 



phemer is not held guilty nnless 
the Name is expressed.* *^ The dis- 
tinct evidence of the Synoptic 
Evangelists is, that Jesns was 
brought before the whole Sanhedrin 
on the charge of being a false 
prophet. This was one of the 
special cases reserved for the de- 
cision of the great Sanhedrin of 
71 members. The only accusation 
in support of this charge, which is 
mentioned by the three Evangelists 
is a statement as to the rebuilding 
of the Temple in three days, which 
they say was made by false wit- 
nesses, but which the Fourth Evan- 
gelist has included in his narrative. 
The evidence, however, was not 
such as to satisfy the requirements 
of the Law. The High Priest then 
put the question to Jesus, under 
solemn adjuration, whether He 
claimed to be the Messiah. On 
hearing the reply, he declared that 
the crime of blasphemy had been 
committed. He rent his clothes, 
as the Law prescribed that the 
judges should do on hearing the 
NAME, and the whole Sanhedrin 
confirmed the judgment. It is 
impossible to tell, from our present 
information, whether it was the 
simple utterance of the NOMBN, ac- 
cording to the more general opinion, 
or the utterance of that Name to- 
gether with other words, that was 
then denounced as the fatal crime. 
But it is not essential to know 
which was the case. It is certain 
that the legal crime was declared 
to have been committed ; that that 
crime involved the utterance of the 
NOMEN ; and that the Sanhedrin 
confirmed the sentence of death. 
Whether this sentence was just or 
nnjust is the main point in dispute 
between the Jew and the Christian. 
That it was uttered in accordance 
with the forms of the Law, however 
imperfectly based on evidence, few 
scholarly students will doubt. 



That it was essentially unjust no 
Christian will deny. There is so 
little that is questionable in the 
matter, that little is so immaterial 
to the truth of my hypothesis, and 
that hypothesis has so little to do 
with the- question of the literary 
character of the Fourth Gospel, 
that if the error were not on Dr. 
Edersheim's side, but on that of 
F. B. C, its effect on the general 
argument of the latter would be as 
trifling as that of a spot of dust on 
the frmge of a robe, compared to the 
integrity and compactness of the 
vestment. 

I have on the whole to thank Dr. 
Edersheim for just that kind of op- 
position to my argument which is 
offered by the carpenter to the point 
of a nail, under the technical name of 
clenching. The lynx-eyed hostility 
with which he has counted errors of 
the press, criticised the adoption of 
the different modes of spelling used 
by the different authors I have 
quoted, and vaunted the greater cor- 
rectness of the Jewish mode of citing 
the Talmud, which makes no dis- 
tinction between the Mishna and 
the Ghemara, and gives no informa- 
tion to anyone who is unable to 
refer to the twelve folio volumes of 
the Hebrew Talmud, as compared 
to my distinct references to the 
enactments of the Mishna, which 
any ordinary scholar can verify 
in the well-known work of Su- 
renhuse, speaks for itself. It 
tells what would have been the 
result if any links in the chain of 
argument had been unsound. It is 
a high testimony to the accuracy (in 
all essential points) of the article 
attacked, having failed to detect a 
single evidence of palpable igno- 
rance, gross carelessness, or decep- 
tive want of candour. To which 
of these causes the counter-asser- 
tions about the excommunication 
in the Temple, the Teraclin, and 



" De Syned. vii. 5. 
VOL. XII. — ^KO. LXVII. NEW SBMES. 



64 



Tlie Delate as to the Fourth Gospel, 



the use of the Nomen are due I 
leave Dr. Edersheim to settle with 
his admirers. 

Should any reader think that 
injustice has been done to the cha- 
racter of my assailant's assertions, 
let him take the trouble to com- 
pare two or three of the most 
positive of them with the state- 
ments of the Pentateuch, the 
Gospels, and the Mishna. I will 
place them together, avoiding any 
ohance of misrepresentation by 
quoting the very words of the 
authorised version, and of the ex- 
cellent translation of the Mishna by 
Surenhuse. I take Dr. Edersheim's 
statements from pp. 770-9, No. Ixvi. 
of Fraser*s Magazine, The italics 
are his own: 

* It is not the case that " the ut- 
terance of the Divine Name was the 
most awful and unpardonable crime 
known to the Jewish Law." ' — ' As 
well the stranger as he that is bom 
in the land, when he blasphemeth 
the Name, shall be put to death,' 
Levit. xxiv. 16. ' Blasphemus non 
tenetur, nisi expressit nomen,' De 
Synedriisy vii. 5. 

' It is not the case that upon this 
the High Priest would rend his 
garments.' — * Then the High Priest 
rent his clothes, saying, He hath 
spoken blasphemy,' Matt. xxvi. 65. 
' Tunc ille hoc refert. Judices 
autem stant erecti, vestesque dis- 
cerpunt, non resarciendas, ' De Syned, 
vii. 5. 

* It is not true that in such a case 
judgment of death would be the 
inevitable consequence.' — * He shall 
surely be put to death,' Levit. xxiv. 
16. * Confecto judicio, damnatum 
edncuntat lapidibus obruatur,' De 
Syned. vi. i. * And they all con- 
demned Him to be guilty of death,' 
Mark xiv. 64. 

* A judicial murder which a brief 
explanation might have averted ' — 
' And He said unto them. If I tell 
you ye will not believe, and if I 
also ask ye will not answer, nor let 
me go,' Luke xxii. 67. * And 
Pilate answered 



again, 



saying, 



Answerest thou nothing r 
how many things thej 
against thee. But Jesui 
swered nothing ; so th 
marvelled,' Mark xv. 4. 

As the sole point as to t 
doubt is here possible, is t 
was the simple utteranc 
NAME, or the utterance 
tence containing the NA3' 
formed the technical crime 
judgment was denounced, 
be thought of a disputant 
lows himself to speak of * 
puerility of the whole trai 

In the first fierce shock ( 
war there was heavy fi^ 
Woerth. The little streai 
at the foot of the hill ; 
Christ on the Cross at t 
of the vineyard was s< 
many balls. I trust, noi 
own sake, but for that 
decency, that the next 
Edersheim rushes forwa 
volunteer to attack a w 
is searching for truth, ho 
shower his peculiar mi 
wildly that, in missing i 
they strike the most 
Names in history, and O: 
Christian people venerate 1 
It is, so far as I know, wit 
parallel in our literature 
order to discredit a writ 
arguments he shuns to 
man should speak of tL 
puerility of the whole tra 
upon which the Christ: 
depends, as viewed in t 
shed by the best author] 
* have to say' that unless E 
heira's hasty polemic 1 
and the Pentateuch, the 
and the Mishna, in pass 
tinctly cited, wrong, the G 
tim on Calvary was ' 
guilty than those who infli 
death, is a mode of argumc 
I leave without another 
the verdict of the English 

• F 

[This discussion cannot 1 
prolonged in our pages. — ] 



1875] 



65 



THE MERCHANT OF VENIGE AT THE PRINCE OF WALES'S 

THEATRE. 



THE decay of the legitimate drama 
has long been a subject of 
complaint ; and if by the legitimate 
be meant the poetic drama, it must 
be admitted that fashion has not 
mn strongly enough in that direc- 
tion of late years to encourage 
managers to collect and train com- 
panies for the proper performance 
of it. A particular actor appears 
from time to time, and makes a 
name, by merit or otherwise, as 
representative of one of Shake- 
speare's great characters ; and then 
a company of some kind is got toge- 
ther to support him. But it is long 
since we had a theatre that made 
the representation of the poetic 
drama its proper aim and business. 
The imme(Uate cause of this is 
not far to seek. The demand for 
the higher art is not sufficient to 
draw the supply ; consequently the 
supply is not sufficient to encou- 
rage the demand. Playgoers do not 
ask for the great plays, because 
there is nobody to act them ; 
managers do not procure people to 
act them, because playgoers do not 
ask for them. It is a difficulty 
which cannot be dealt with by way 
of precontract, for there is no way 
of engaging the public beforehand 
to supply full houses. The experi- 
ment must be made at the risk of 
the management, and the risk must 
be considerable. But it is all the 
more to be wished that when it is 
made, and made in a manner which 
deserves success, it should not fail 
for want of due information or ap- 
preciation on the part of the public. 
And here it is that the Press has 
the power of doing both good and 
ill service. Though the concurrent 
applause of all the newspapers can- 
not make people take pleasure in a 
thing which does not amuse or 
interest them, it can make them go 
once to see it. Concurrent depre- 
ciation, on the other hand, by two 



or three will deter vast numbers 
from going at all, and so cut off the 
appeal which should lie from the 
judgment of the critic to the feeling 
of the audience. Thus it comes 
that the success of such adventures 
rests in great part with the thea- 
trical columns of the daily press; 
columns very unlike the columnoR 
that Horace speaks of, to which 
mediocrity was intolerable. 

Through what we take to be 
nothing worse than thoughtlessness 
on the part of these invisible powers, 
a very praiseworthy experiment of 
the land has lately fallen far short 
of the success it deserved, and is in 
danger of carrying with it in its 
fall a chance for the poetic drama 
which can hardly be expected to 
offer itself soon again. The managers 
of the Prince of Wales's Theatre 
having, by great care and skill, 
trained a company to act a cer- 
tain class of popular plays (not of 
the poetic order) as well, perhaps, 
as they deserve to be acted, and 
thereby established for their house 
a well-merited reputation, j were 
inspired with a laudable ambi- 
tion to try the effect of the same 
care and skill in a higher region, 
and see whether one of Shake- 
speare's comedies could not be got 
up as perfectly, according to its kind, 
as School or Society, They chose 
a play which, though often acted, 
always pleasing, and containing one 
famous part, and one famous speech 
in another part, has never had jus- 
tice done to it as a whole. They 
set it forth with scenery, cos- 
tume, grouping, and general pic- 
torial effect equal to anything of 
the kind that has been produced in 
these times, when the arts of deco- 
ration have been so much studied. 
They took great pains both with 
the dialogue and the action, in 
all the parts, and in the minutest 
particulars. And though the best 

p 2 



66 The * MercJiant of Venice' at the Prince of Wales's Theatre. [July 



training for the Robertsonian drama 
leaves mnch to be learnt, and much 
also to be unlearnt, by an actor 
before he is fit for Shakespeare, 
they succeeded at least in inspir- 
ing every one of the company 
with a desire to do his best with 
the part assigned to him. More 
than all — because without some 
additional feature of special interest 
the best under such conditions 
would not, perhaps, have been 
good enough to make the Merchant 
of Venice attractive to a public 
which, if it will allow us to say so, 
requires * education ' for the enjoy- 
ment of this kind of art no less than 
the players for the performance of 
it — they engaged for the prin- 
cipal part a lady ready furnished 
with all the qualities needed in it, 
who could show how * one of Shake- 
speare's women,' may be and ought 
be acted, and of whose performance 
to it is not too much to say that it 
would of itself have gone far to 
supply that very * education ' which 
both audience and actors stand so 
much in need of. 

This being beyond all question 
the most important novelty and the 
great distinction of the enterprise, 
it might have been expected that 
judicious critics would try to make 
it conspicuous as a great event for 
playgoers, and a thing to be seen. 
And that they failed to do so is the 
more surprising because the merit 
of the performance, and even the 
singularity of its merit, appears to 
have been felt by them all. But 
unfortunately, while they agreed in 
distinguishing Miss Ellen Terry's 
Portia with exceptional praise, at 
once intelligent, discriminating, and 
unreserved, they agreed also in 
beginning their several notices with 
complaints of the unsatisfactory 
character and announcements of the 
imperfect success of the whole ex- 
periment, the effect of which must 
have been simply to warn people 
away ; and which have, in fact, re- 
sulted in the premature withdrawal 
of the piece before half the playgoing 



world have had a chance of seeing it. 
If the critics (who in these days of 
small theatres can make any play fail 
by calling it a failure, and give any 
play a chance of succeeding by call- 
ing it a success) had only hegoji 
by advising everybody to go and 
see Miss Terry in Portia — whidi 
was no more than the just inference 
from their own reports — they might 
have indulged themselves in what 
censures they pleased upon the rest, 
and done no harm. Those who 
went might have agreed with them 
or might have differed — all that ise 
have happened to meet with did, in 
fact, differ with them widely and 
vehemently — but in either case they 
would have seen the play. 

To us this premature withdrawal, 
though we cannot believe it to be 
final, seems an accident very macli 
to be regretted, not only as tending 
to discourage a kind of enterprise 
which ought by all means to be en- 
couraged, but because it will he 
diflBcult to find another part so well 
suited to the exercise of Miss Terry's 
peculiar gifts, and impossible to 
find another actress so well qualified 
to represent one of the most dehght- 
ful of Shakespeare's female crea- 
tions. 

Mrs. Jameson, in attempting io 
classify the poet's women according 
to their characteristic quahties— as 
characters in which intellect and 
wit, passion and fancy, or the moral 
sentiments and affections, severally 
predominated — placed Portia among 
the women of intellect. But when 
we read her analysis of the character 
— one of the best things in a book 
which contains some of the best 
Shakesperian criticism that we po^ 
sess — it becomes plain that a fourth 
class should have been provided f^^ 
her — a class in which none of these 
qualities predominatedy but all w^^ 
equally developed ; and if one vf'^ 
at any time more conspicuous tb^ 
the rest, it was only because the o^' 
cidents of the situation gave mo^ 
occasion and scope for the exerci^ 
or exhibition of it. Suppose For' 



rhe * MercJia/ni of Venice ' at the Prince of WcUes^s TJieatre. 67 



ation cbaDged, and yon feel 
that it would call np the 
Eite feeling and be met in 
•opriate attitude ; for each 
Qumerated qualities has its 
lace in her nature, and is 

answer the moment it is 
pon. Even in the part 
le has to play, bright, joy- 
happy as it is — a succession 
nate adventures crowned 
nplete success — the occa- 
hadows which cross and 
it are sufl&cient to draw out 
les which she holds in re- 
id to reveal the latent ca- 
jf her being ; giving certain 
e that tenderness, sweet- 
ies ty, affection, moral eleva- 
irity, self-denial, and mag- 
r, are as inseparable from 
re as intellectual power and 
it ; that she is capable of as 
ission as is consistent with 
rol, of as much imagination 
y as can keep company with 
)f as much play of humour 
tive mischief as can be in- 
rithout doing harm or giving 
'or though her lot is un- 
free from strong contrasts 
it and dark, it is chequered 
itinual interchanges of light 
low, which supply a succes- 
picturesque effects, and im- 
)re real variety to her cha- 
ban is to be found in many 
) which are made to pass 

opposite extremities of pas- 
fortune. 

f this variety of graces dis- 
les the character of Portia 
ned by Shakespeare, it was 
i the distinction of it as 
f Miss Terry. As she moved 
I the changing scene, every 
ident seemed to touch some 
;ling ; and each change of 
expressed itself by voice, 
ance, or gesture in a man- 
lively and natural that it 
b at once to be both true in 
id in harmony with the rest, 
ling that she had to do 
to come equally easy to her, 



and was done equally well; and 
the critic who would undertake to 
define the limits within which her 
power lies must be either very 
sagacious or very blind and deaf. 
Putting aside the foolish prejudice 
which appropriates to a particular 
character a particular type of face 
— which supposes, for instance, 
that Lady Macbeth cannot be acted 
by a woman whose face and figure 
cannot be made up into some kind 
of resemblance to Mrs. Siddons — 
and remembering that where the 
feeling is, any face can express it, 
if we ask ourselves what formB of 
human feeling lie beyond the possible 
range of Miss Terry's sympathetic 
conception, we find the question hard 
to answer. We knew before that, 
within a cei*tain range, she was 
mistress of her art. We know now 
that her range is both wide and 
high. The part of Portia is not a 
long one, but the memorable fea- 
tures in her performance of it 
make a long list. Remember — we 
are sorry that we cannot now say, 
observe — in the scene where ac- 
cording to the new stage- arrange- 
ment she first appeared, the re- 
served and stately courtesy with 
which she received the Prince of 
Morocco, and explained to him the 
conditions of his venture ; her mo- 
mentary flutter of alarm as he 
went to make his choice ; her sud- 
den relief, mixed with amusement, 
when he began by dismissing the 
leaden casket with contempt ; her 
conversation with Nerissa (properly 
her first scene), half plaintive, half 
playful, in which she bemoaned her 
fortune, and discussed the characters 
of the suitors — bringing out every 
shade of humorous meaning in 
perfect relief, and yet without the 
least coarseness or exaggeration ; the 
delicate embarrassment ot her first 
interview with Bassanio, when, in 
desiring him to postpone his trial, 
«he was betrayed into an avowal of 
her love ; her deeper agitations of 
fear and hope as he delibert^d 
over the caskets, and her outburst 



68 The ^ Merchant of Venice ' at the Prince of Walea^s Theatre. [July 



of passionate emotion when lie con- 
dnded at last in favour of the right 
one ; the sweet dignity with which 
she surrendered to him herself and 
all that was hers ; her quick alarm 
at his change of countenance on 
reading Antonio's letter ; her eager 
sympathy and impetuous resolution 
when she heard the contents; the 
hurried despatch of her letter to 
Bellario, writing and carrying on 
her conversation with Lorenzo at 
the same time (a novelty, by the 
way, required by the new scenic 
arrangements, but, as she handled 
it^ a real improvement and enrich- 
ment of the text), and the bright 
promptitude of all her arrangements 
for departure, — all in the best blank 
verse, yet all so life-like ; her per- 
fect assumption of the manner and 
demeanour of the young and learned, 
and very gentlemanly, doctor of 
laws ; the touching earnestness of 
her appeals to Shylock*s better na- 
ture, as if desiring to save him 
from the penalty of his act by 
persuading him to forbear it ; the 
silent accumulation of moral anger 
as he rejected each overture, and 
insisted upon pressing to extremity 
his legal advantage, till she seemed 
to feel for the moment a kind of 
scornful pleasure in oflFering him 
his own cup to drink ; and at last, 
when, all serious business being hap- 
pily over, she was at leisure to con- 
template the situation, her infinite 
enjoyment of the humour of it — 
it would take a column to describe 
all that passed through her mind, 
and looked out of her eyes, as she 
said to Bassanio : 

I pray you know me when we meet again ; — 

the gaiety of heart which 
prompted her demand of the 
ring as a fee, and the abounding 
spirit of affectionate mischief with 
which she pursued the jest to its 
happy conclusion — all this, exe- 
cuted so perfectly as it was, — with 
a delivery of the words, whether 
verse or prose, so modulated that 
the* ear was never for a moment 



weary ; the action so delicatelj 
suited to the word and the word 
to the action; the meaning never 
missed and never obtruded; the 
modesty of nature never over- 
stepped — ^implies, to our thinking, a 
degree of intelligence, imagination, 
feeling, humour, and taste, which 
(combined as it is with such perfect 
command of all the organs of ex- 
pression) should suffice for the re- 
presentation of any youthful female 
character that is truly drawn by art 
from nature. And if, when such 
an artist appears, she may not act 
Shakespeare's women because the 
rest of the company have acquired 
a reputation for acting Robertson's 
men, who can wonder that the legi- 
timate drama declines ? 

Every theatre in London has a 
public of its own, composed 
of those members of the general 
public who are attracted by 
the kind of entertainment in 
which it excels. The attraction 
held out by the Prince of Wales's 
has been what is called 'pleasant 
comedy;' by which is meant cor- 
rect imitations of the surface and 
slang of modem London life, with 
a careful setting of rooms and fur- 
niture and street landscapes very 
like the reality, and a careful avoid- 
ance of everything that appeals to 
the imagination or the heart. That 
a public brought together in the 
way of natural selection by a com- 
mon taste for this kind of enter- 
tainment should find the Merchaid 
of Venice less attractive, was to be 
expected. And though London 
contains other publics to which it 
was certain to prove much more 
attractive, and which would in due 
time have made up for secessions, 
time was required for the attrac- 
tion to take eflect upon them. They 
had to learn that there was some- 
thing at the theatre worth seeing, and 
probably to alter domestic arrange- 
ments made on the assumption thai 
there was not. But though this 
would be enough to account for a 
temporary falling-off in the attend* 



1876] The * Merchant of Venice ' at tlie Frince of Wales^a Theatre. 



69 



ance, it does not explain the chorus 
of depreciatory criticism with which 
the performance itself has been 
assailed, and which (there being so 
little apparent occasion for it) must 
be owing to some popular delusion 
with regard to the play itself. That 
in the representation at the Priuce 
of Wales's Portia seemed for the 
first time a more interesting per- 
son than Shylock was a remark 
made by one of the critics, and 
made as much in derision of the 
whole performance as in compli- 
ment to the exceptional merit of 
Miss E. Terry. Whether it was 
the first time that this has hap- 
pened we cannot undertake to say, 
but if it was, it must be the first 
time that the play has been pro- 
perly put upon the stage. For who 
that reads it as Shakespeare left it 
can doubt that this was his inten- 
tion ? Those who know it only on 
the stage may doubt ; for since the 
great tragic actors took up the part 
of Shylock the rest of the play 
(which was originally a comedy) 
has been sacrificed to it. The 
pruning-knife has been applied so 
freely to Bassanio (a part worthy 
of Charles Kemble in his prime) 
that no actor of eminence now 
takes it. The scenes at Belmont 
have been so handled that they 
might almost be left out without 
being missed. And though Portia 
has remained in possession of the 
chief actress in the company, she 
is associated in popular imagina- 
tion chiefly with the elegant-extract 
speech in praise of mercy, which is 
remembered as the distinguishing 
feature of Mrs. Siddons* perform- 
ance (and in that rather as a spe- 
cimen of declamation than of true 
dramatic effect), and has never been 
reckoned among the great parts. 
In the case of Shylock, on the con- 
trary, the admiration and sympathy 
properly due to the actor — gene- 
rally the great tragedian of the 
day, and personally more inte- 
resting than all the rest of the 
company put together — ^have been 



transferred to himself; till we hare 
come to regard one of the harshest 
pictures of malignity and depravity 
that Shakespeare ever exhibited in 
human shape as a kind of tragic 
hero, with something of the Mil- 
tonic Satan in him — 

The unconquerable will, 
And study of revenge, immortal hate, 
And courage never to submit or yield, 
And what is else not to be overcome. 

Heroic qualities, which, joined with 
a feeling (belonging more to our own 
century than the sixteenth) that 
they are partly justified by provoca- 
tion and hard usage and insults 
from baser natures, enable the actor 
to make his exit with an air of con- 
temptuous superiority that imposes 
upon the audience, and brings them 
into a mood so sympathetic tnat if 
the end of the trial were the end of 
the play they would probably be 
quite satisfied, and care no more 
what becomes of Portia and the rest 
of her party. Indeed, we can re- 
member long ago to have heard a 
good authority speak of the fifth act 
of the Merchant of Venice as an 
extraordinary instance of Shake- 
speare's inequality, all the interest 
having ended with the fourth ; and 
extraordinary it would certainly be 
if the interest was meant to centre 
in Shylock. But read the play as 
it was written, and imagine all the 
parts acted equally well: — What 
title has Shylock to be the central 
figure? There is nothing in him 
either good, or afiecting, or amusing, 
or terrible, or magnanimous. Pas- 
sion there is, and intellectual power; 
but it is passion of the meanest and 
most malignant kiud. There is no 
mystery about him. His first so- 
liloquy introduces him to us exactly 
as he is — a Jewish usurer, who hatc^ 
all Christians, but especially Chris- 
tians who are simple enough to lend 
money gratis ; hates them because 
they bring down the rate of usance, 
and means to be revenged when he 
can. A chance offers itself at the 
moment. Antonio, a gratuitous 
lender, who has often spoiled his 



70 The * Merchant of Venice ' at the Prince of Wales's Theatre. [July 



bargains by redeeming his debtors 
from forfeiture, wants to borrow 
money himself. He offers it, under 
pretence of kindness, as a loan 
without interest; but contrives, 
under cover of a jest, to engage 
the borrower's life as security for 
the repayment of the principal. 
There you have the whole case — 
the man, the motive, the design. 
The hard words and indignities to 
his beard and gaberdine which he 
has suffered in former disputes with 
Antonio are of small account with 
him. Those he has always been 
content to let pass with a shrug, and 
only remembers now for purposes 
of rhetoric. But the delivery of 
debtors from forfeiture is an injury 
not to be forgiven, and he deli- 
berately resolves to kill him out of 
his way if he has the chance. Who 
can suppose that Shakespeare would 
have introduced into a comedy such 
a character as this, with intent to 
make him an object either of admi- 
ration or pity, or even of abhor- 
rence? Is it not plain that, for 
purposes of comedy, his proper 
fate is to be baffled and defeated, 
and then dismissed with contempt ? 
And so in the real play he is ; for 
his fate is no way tragical ; and his 
punishment, while it is appropriate 
enough to satisfy the sense of justice, 
is not so heavy as to cast a shadow 
inconsistent with merriment. One- 
half of his goods is restored to him 
at Antonio's request; the other is 
to be held in trust for his son-in- 
law, payable upon his own death ; 
and though the condition that he 
should 'presently become a Chris- 
tian ' may seem to us an inhuman 
and unnecessary aggravation, we 
must remember that in those days 
a Christian was a Christian, and 
that to the audience at the Globe it 
would seem neither a punishment 
nor an indignity. Antonio meant 
it, we fancy, for a mercy ; thinking 
that Shylock's soul, which he had 
some reason for supposing to be in a 
bad condition, would be the better 
for it. 



The Shylock of the modem stage 
is said to have been invented and 
brought into fashion by Macklin 
in 1 741. In the primitive times it 
was treated, no doubt, according to 
the description in the title-page of 
the Comical History of the Merchant 
of VenicCy simply as * Shylock the 
Jew,' whose 'extreme cruelty to- 
wards the said merchant in catting 
a just pound of his flesh' was 
advertised as one of the attrac- 
tions. In the late revival, the 
restoration of Portia to her legiti- 
mate pre-eminence had the effect 
of reducing Shylock to his proper 
place. But the popular tradition of a 
century is not easily overcome, and 
its influence was traceable in the 
conception of the character. Mr. 
Coghlan, coming to his task with 
a reputation for success in the 
lightest and most modem comedy, 
has of course been reproved for 
aspiring to rise above it. It is tiie 
regular remark in all such cases. 
As it appeared to us, however, it 
was not the accomplishments of 
the light comedian so much as the 
example of the great tragedians, that 
really stood in his way. It betrayed 
him into an ambition to make too 
much of the part. His long pauses, 
his elaborate by-play, his exagge- 
rated emphasis, were meant to 
make it impressive, and were in 
themselves skilful; but they did 
in fact make it slow and heavy, and 
combined with the tedious intervals 
between the acts (necessary, we 
suppose, for the arrangement of 
the scenery) to make the whole 
play drag. In addressing Antonio, 
he spoke of the insults he had re- 
ceived from him with an emphasis 
and angry bitterness which would 
have been very effective in the proper 
place, but were here against his 
meaning and inconsistent with his 
own game — which was to make 
Antonio believe that he was ready 
to forget all such tlungs, and to 
deserve his love by friendly dealing. 
In the trial-scene he was so ex- 
cessively deliberate in « all his move- 



rke * Merchant of Venice ' at the Prince of Wales* a Theatre. 71 



9 long in aDswering qnes- 
> slow of delivery both in 
peeches and in the scomfal 
that all the eagerness and 
ce in pursuit of hia prey, 
akes itself felt so strouglj^ 
Dg, appeared to have died 
im. A quicker movement 
Qgh would have corrected 
icipal defects of the per- 
, and, whatever the critics 
ay, it would have its effect 
J audience. And if, at the 
ne, it had been possible 
)en the intervals between 
nes, and restore them to 
)per order, the action would 
m found to be much lighter 
tier, and more harmonious. 
leare was not troubled with 
ited scenery. A room in 

house at Belmont was 
changed into a street in 
and a great part of his 
instructing plays so that 
ould 'please' consisted in 
id interchange of short 

As a series of pictorial 
ions, the scenic arrange- 
kt the Prince of Wales's 
>e too much praised. The 
nd moving groups, as well 
painted scenes, formed a 
on of fine Venetian pictures, 
must be owned that the 
vhich they involved in ter- 
ry materially with the enjoy- 

the play. 

whatever improvements it 
i of, we must repeat the 
on of our regret that it has 
red attractive enough to be 
^ ; that the managers have 

fall back again upon the 
s of the club, the street, and 
.wing- room; and that the 
.re all applauding them for 
so graciously submitted to 
Igment of the public,* and, 

simple expedient of sub- 
g Money for the Merchant of 
made their house once more 
me of pleasant comedy.' 
hose who are ready to accept 



Money as the representative of 
pleasant comedy, its old attractions 
would probably have been suffi- 
cient. But, in justice to the 
managers, and for the encourage- 
ment of those who, like ourselves, 
have had enough of such humours, 
it is right to add that it now 
appears with some new attractions 
which will be more to their taste. 
Mrs. Bancroft's lively widow is a 
new thing, and a great improve- 
ment upon the original type. And 
the heroine, who used to be a some- 
what doleful, sentimental, uninte- 
resting piece of unhappy virtue, 
reappears in Miss E. Terry as a 
true woman, full of genuine feeling, 
and so natural in every tone and 
gesture that (as a judicious critic 
has remarked) she makes the rest 
of the piece unreal by contrast. 
This is indeed a new creation, 
worthy of a permanent place among 
the classical figures of the poetic 
drama ; and though the passion is 
really tragic throughout, the autho- 
rity of Lord Lytton will probably 
obtain leave for it to keep its place 
in pleasant comedy. We have been 
rather alarmed, however, by a re- 
mark which has been called forth 
by a still later exhibition of the 
same merits in a different subject. 
In a comedietta — very lively comedy 
from beginning to end — Miss Terry 
acted a young wife, and the remark 
was that she threw into her per- 
sonation an amount of earnestness, 
pathos and real feeling, which, 
though very wonderful and admi- 
rable in itself, was perhaps hardly 
* suitable.' It appears, therefore, 
that the prestige of this meritorious 
little theatre is in peril this way 
too. Is it beyond hope that, among 
so many rival candidates for popular 
attraction, some enterprising mana- 
ger may train a company expressly 
lor the exhibition of these very 
qualities, and establish for his house 
a prestige which can only be endan- 
gered by producing something for 
which they are not suitable ? 

J. S. 



72 



[Jnly 



THE INTERNATIONAL WORKING MEN'S ASSOCIATIONJ 



Part I. 

"VrOTHING, perhaps, throughoub 
X^l the brief existence of the In- 
ternational Working Men's Associa- 
tion, more commonly known as 
L* Intematianale, so startled the 
world as its sndden collapse. Its 
development had been extraordi- 
narily rapid, its changes of attitnde 
numerous and decidea, its final pre- 
cipitation from pacific programmes 
into the wildest revolutionary mea- 
sures unaccountable. Still, neither 
its friends nor its foes could foresee 
so instantaneous and complete a 
breaking-up of what had lately been 
one of the strongest social organisa- 
tions of modern times. During the 
short space of ten years the Inter- 
national Working Men's Associa- 
tion had sprung fix>m the friendly 
nnion of a few French and English 
workmen into a coalition formidable 
enough, both in intellect and in 
numbers, to disquiet the most 
powerful European Governments, 
yet at the end of that time it ceased 
to exist. In 1862, an idea; in 1868, 
a fact and a power ; and in 1872, a 
name. 

Such is the history of the latest 
and by far the most important 
outgrowth of Socialist doctrines; 
an outgrowth, moreover, that has 
this distinctive characteristic — it 
originated solely among the class 
whose name it bears. Hitherto 
Socialism had been another name 
only for St. Simonism, Fourierism, 
Cabetism, as the case might be ; the 
members of the International Work- 
ing Men's Association, however 
strongly indoctrinated with the 
teaching of such leaders, avowedly 
disclaimed a head, and from first 
to last the work of organisation 
and line of conduct laid down were 
their own. This is an important 
fSact to bear in mind when consider- 



ing the strange and interesting piece 
of history before ns; but it most 
also be borne in mind that the In- 
ternational, no more than any other 
social and political party, could 
help being imbued with the spirit ci 
the age, and, whilst disavowing the 
teaching of any particular Sociidistic 
school, is saturated with the ideas 
of all. We discern, as we pan 
from programme to programme or 
address to address, a dictum cl 
Proudhon here, of Robert Owen 
there; on one page a maxim of 
Louis Blanc, on another of the 
old Utopian authors. Yet the 
International maintained its intel* 
lectual autonomy throughout, and 
the very rise of leaders from iti 
ranks was the signal of its coU. 
lapse. When one or two dominant 
spirits would fain have made their 
word law among the Intemation-i 
alists, the gigantic fabric crumbled 
to pieces ; and every phase of itB 
prior existence might have fore- 
shadowed such a catastrophe. Even 
the office of President had been dis- 
pensed with as implying personal 
supremacy; and Dr. Elarl Marx's 
principle of centralisation — so cup 
riously at variance with the spirit 
of the Association, and so contnir 
dictory in a member— was, so say 
the Internationalists, the rock on 
which the Association split. 

It is customary to associate the 
downfall of the International solely 
with the overthrow of the Commune; 
but other causes were at work which^ 
sooner or later, irrespective of any 
political action, must have brought 
about the same result. It had 
no definite programme to begin 
with, no clearly defined points of 
adhesion, no unanimous motive- 
power, to bind the heterogeneous 
masses of its adherents together; 
on the other hand, it must be re- 
membered that the Internationalists 



^ [Much of the iDformation given in this article is derived from special, and we believe 
trustworthy, sources. — Ed.] 



The InUriuUioiud Wwking Men's Association, 



73 



>iily a section of the Gom- 
id not the most important 
>ssel, speaking solemnly a 
3 before his death, affirmed 
Internationalists had little 
in the revelation of 1871, 
those of its members who 
xstive part in it were honest 
roted to the public cause. ^ 
a misconception ; jet those 
to the opposite extreme of 
g the Commune as the 
and ruin of the Intema- 
olj are equally in error, 
le feill of the Empire, and 
ive of the consequences, 
national was doomed. We 
why. 

idea of an international 
f working men for pacific 
was a noble one, and thus 
jd : In the year 1862 
French workmen were as- 
their visits to the General 
3n at South Kensington, 
by their fellow-workmen, 

by the well-known Aries 
a man of extreme beuevo- 
id the most enlightened 
, not unmixed with So- 
doctrines. Among these 
>lain, a chaser in bronze, 
Durg, a decorative engraver, 
n of peace and reflection, 
y be called the Conserva- 
he International, who af ter- 
'ainly strove to stem its 
mary course, and who were 
Qd hooted at when raising 
ices on the side of rule and 
Upon this occasion an ad- 
\s made by English work- 

their French colleagues, 
e and becoming enough in 
d spirit, as has even been 
I by writers hostile to the 
* The English workmen are 
b the opportunity of holding 



to you a brotherly hand and bid- 
ding you heartily welcome,* they 
said. 'We believe that, in inter- 
changing our thoughts and obser- 
vations with workmen of other 
nationalities, we shall be able the 
sooner to solve the social and econo- 
mic problems before us. Let us 
hope that, having once shaken each 
other by the hand, and having once 
regarded ourselves as men, citizens, 
and fellow- workmen, we shall not 
suffer our fraternal alliance to be 
broken by those who believe it 
in their interest to see us disunited.' 
Tolain and Fribourg soon found 
kindred spirits in London, notably 
the following, who were really the 
founders of the International : Karl 
Marxung, a Swiss, and a watch- 
maker by trade; Eccarius, a German 
tailor; Dupont, a French violinist; 
Odger, Lucraft, Potter, and other 
well-known English trades union- 
ists. They studied the working of 
English trades unions, visited the 
co-operative stores at Rochdale, and 
made acquaintance with the prac- 
tical Socialism of England. These 
men saw in a pacific alliance of the 
working classes of different coun- 
tries the safest and surest road to 
the amelioration of all, and soon 
matured a scheme of future action. 
But there was a difficulty to be over- 
come. Working men's societies 
were illegal in France, and the only 
means of bringing Frenchmen 
within the scope of the Interna- 
tional was to make the new associa- 
tion other than French, and to place 
its central office on other ground. 
Accordingly, on the 28 th of Septem- 
ber, it was inaugurated under the 
name of the International Working 
Men's Association at St. Martin's 
Hall, Professor Beesley in the chair. 
Upon that occasion a provisional 



ntemationaiix n'^taient pas de mauvaises gens, autant que j'en ai pa juger ; 
lu'il y avait de mieux dans la revolution. G^rardin, Malon, Avrial, sent 
j*ai va davantage. Cetaient de fort braves gens, devours k la cause publique 
els 11 ne manquait que la Yolont^ et une doctrine un peu stie. L'lntema- 
*a pas s^rieusement donn6 dans la revolution de Paris ; elle envoyait, dit-on, 
at; la Gommime n'en a jamais parU, mais ce netait evidemment qu'une 
trfes-efibc^ dans le gouvemement de Paris. — Kossel, Papiers posthumes. 



•4 



The International Working Men^s Association, 



[July 



council was formed, Odger was 
named President, and the meeting- 
place of the new society arranged 
in Greek Street, Soho. Great ini- 
terest was excited by these pro- 
ceedings. * We have a feeling that 
something great has come into the 
world,' writes Henri Martin, the 
French historian. Jnles Simon 
was warm in approval, and applied 
for a card of membership. On 
November i of the same year was 
published an address, accompanied 
by provisional rules, and an an- 
nouncement that the first Congress 
of the International would be held 
as soon as might be found practi- 
cable. The rules are too long to 
print, but wo quote the considera- 
tions accompanying them, because 
they are important as a key-note to 
the spirit of the Association, and 
were subsequently adopted and 
printed on the cards of member- 
ship. 

Internatioxal WofiKiKO Men's 
Association. 

CoNSlDI-ailNO, 

That the emancipation of the working 
chisses mu8t Im conquered by the working 
cLisses themselvt's ; that tlio struggle for 
the emaucipatiou of the working classes 
means not u struggle for class privileges 
and monopolies, but for equal rights and 
duties, and the abolition of all class-rule; 

That the economical subjection of the 
raan of labour to the monopoliser of the 
means of labour, that is the sources of life, 
lies at the bottom of ser^ntudo in all its 
forms, of all social misery, mental degrada- 
tion, and political dependence ; 

That the economical emancipation of the 
working cbisses is, therefore, the great end 
to which every political movement ought 
to be subordinate as a means ; 

That all efforts aiming at that great end 
have hitherto failed from the want of 
solidarity between the manifold divisions of 
labour in each country, and from the 
absence of a fraternal bond of union be- 
tween the working classes of different 
countries ; 

That the emancipation of labour is neither 
a local, nor a national, but a social problem, 
embracing all countries in which modem 
society exists, and depending for its solution 
on the concurrence, practical and theore- 
ticiil. of the most advanced countries ; 

That the present revival of the working 



classes in the most industrious countriee 
of Europe, while it raises a new hope, gives 
solemn warning against a relapse into the 
old errors, and calls for the immediate 
combination of the still disconnected move- 
ments ; 
For these reasons : 

The first International Working Men's 
Congress declares that this Intemational 
Association and all societies and individiialB 
adhering to it will acknowledge troth, jus- 
tice, and morality, as the basis of thor 
conduct towards each other and towaids 
all men, without regard to colour, creed, or 
nationality ; 

This Congress considers it the duty of a 
man to claim the rights of a man and a 
citizen, not only for himself, but foroTcty 
man who does his duty. No rights without 
duties, no duties without riehts ; 

And in this spirit they nave drawn up 
the following rules of the International 
Association. 

The address, characteiised by 
Professor Beesley, writing in the 
Fortnightly Review, as 'probably tbe 
most striking and powerfnl state- 
ment of the working men's cam 
against the middle class that has ever 
been compressed into a dozen small 
pages,' begins by quoting from Mr. 
Gladstone's speech on the Budget 
of 1864. *From 1842 to 1852,' said 
the Chancellor of the Exchequer, 
' the taxable income of the eonntrj 
increased six per cent. ; in the eight 
years from 1853 to 186 1 it las 
increased from the basis taken in 
1853 to twenty per cent. This in- 
toxicating augmentation of wealth 
and power is entirely confined to the 
classes of property.' And calling 
attention to the reverse side of the 
medal, he was next eloquent upon 
poverty. The address passes from 
Mr. Gladstone's admissions as to the 
terrible poverty of large masses of 
the people to the statistics of re- 
cent blue books, from which it was 
shown that agricultural labourers 
-fared far worse than prisoners ia 
penal servitude, and that even the 
agricultural labourers fared better 
than numbers of skilled operatives 
in the East of London. When the 
garotte panic had reached a oertain 
height, the House of Lords caused 



1875] 



The International Wor/dng Meu^s Association. 



75 



an enquiry to be made and a report 
pnblished concerning transportation 
and penal servitude. Out came the 
truth in the Blue Book of 1863, 
and proved it was, by official facts 
and figures, that the worst of the 
convicted criminals, the penal serfs 
of England and Scotland, toiled 
much less and fared far better than 
the agricultural labourers of Bug- 
land and Scotland. But this was 
not all. When, consequent upon 
the civil war in America, the Lanca- 
shire operatives were thrown upon 
the streets, the same House of 
Lords sent to the manufacturing 
districts a physician as commis- 
sioner to investigate into the small- 
est possible amount of carbon and 
nitrogen to be administered in the 
cheapest and plainest form which, 
on an average, might just avert 
starvatiou -disease. Dr. Smith, the 
medical deputy, ascertained that 
28,000 grains of carbon, and 1,330 
grains of nitrogen, were the weekly 
allowance that would keep an ave- 
rage adult just on the level of 
starvation-disease, and he found, 
furthermore, that quantity to agree 
pretty nearly with the scanty 
nourishment to which the pressure 
of extreme distress had actually re- 
duced the cotton operatives. But 
now mark : The same learned Doctor 
was, later on, again deputed by the 
medical officer of the Privy Council 
to enquire into the nourishment of 
the poorer labouring classes. The 
results of his researches are em- 
bodied in the Sixth Keport of Pub- 
lic Health, published by order of 
Parliament in the course of the 
present year. What did the Doctor 
discover? That the silk- weavers, 
the needlewomen, the kid-glovers, 
the stocking- weavers, and so forth, 
received on an average not even 
the distress-pittance of the cotton 
operatives, not even the amount of 
carbon and nitrogen just sufficient 
to avert starvation-disease. The 
report, moreover, stated that, as 
regards the examined families of 



the agricultural population, it ap- 
peared that more than a fifth 
were with less than the estimated 
sufficiency of nitrogenous food, and 
that in three counties insufficiency 
of nitrogenous food was the average 
local diet. ' If you want to know,* 
continues the address, ' under what 
conditions of broken health, tainted 
morals, and mental ruin * that in- 
toxicating augmentation of wealth 
and power, entirely confined to the 
classes of property, is produced by 
the classes of labour, look to the 
picture hung up in the last public 
health report of the workshops of 
tailors, dressmakers, and printers. 
Compare the Report of the Chil- 
dren's Employment Commission of 
1863, where it is stated, for instance, 
that the potters as a class, both men 
and women, represent a much dege- 
nerated population, both physically 
and mentally. . . . Glance at Mr. 
Tremenhere's blue book on the 
grievances complained of by the 
journeymen bakers. And who has 
not shuddered at the paradoxical 
statement made by the inspectors of 
factories, and illustrated by the Re- 
gistrar-General, that the Lancashire 
operatives, whilst put upon the 
distress pittance of food, are actually 
improving in health, because of 
their temporary exclusion by the 
cotton famine from the cotton fac- 
tory, and that the mortality of the 
children was decreasing, because 
their mothers were now at last 
allowed to give them, instead of 
Godfrey's cordial, their own breasts. 
Again reverse the medal. The 
Income and Property Tax returns 
laid before the House of Commons 
on July 20, 1864, teach us that the 
persons with yearly incomes valued 
by the tax-gatherer at 50,000^ and 
upwards, had from April 5, 1862, 
to April 8, 1863, been joined by a 
dozen and one, their number having 
increased in that single year from 
67 to 80. The same returns dis- 
close the fact that about 3,000 
persons divide among themselves a 



The Iwtemaiwtuil Wm-hmg Merits Association. 



77 



d much too patiently to a 
things disgraceful to the 
on of the age we live in ; 
n going carefully through 
Is of business trajisacted by 
2ral Council of the Inter- 
we find ourselves face to 
I phases of human misery 
patible with modem luxury 
Dement, that we are hardly 
when travellers like Mr. 
come painfully to the 
m that, as far as the 
of our working population 
ned, the happy and healthy 
aa of the Malay Archi- 
I both morally and socially 
arable. There can be no 
at the first founders of the 
ional really intended to 
hemselves to the social pro- 
ith which they are imme- 
oncemed, and that when at 
y disclaimed politics they 
rfectly sincere. It is true 
a the beginning there were 
iing spirits who objected to 
ention. The heroic struggle 
d against Russian tyrants 
lad aroused great sympathy 
le working-classes of France 
land, and in the list of sub- 
posed for discussion at the 
igress was the following: 
jcessity of reducing the 
f Russia in Europe by ex- 
the principle of the right 
»eople to dispose of them- 
ad by the reconstruction of 
u a socialistic and republican 
But the Paris section struck 
id even the proposed in vita- 
ranbaJdi to attend the Con- 
is rejected, on the ground 
ibaJdi was a politician, and 
Intemationsd had nothing 
bh politics or public men. 
tude was, however, of short 
, and, as will be seen, the 
that in a very short time 
such gigantic proportions 
yed hither and thither by 
two dominant minds bent 
eeping away society as at 



present constituted, and erecting a 
new one on its ruins. 

The first Congress met at Geneva 
on April 3, 1866, and was attended 
by sixty delegates, for the most part 
IVench and Swiss. The proceed- 
ings began and ended with music 
and triumphal processions, and ex- 
cited great interest. 

The following subjects are the 
mosfr important that came under 
their consideration: Organisation 
of the Society. International Com- 
bination of Efibrts in the Struggle 
between Labour and Capital. Limi- 
tation of the Working Day. Juve- 
nile Labour. Co-operative Labour. 
Trades Unions. It was resolved 
that general schemes of enquiry 
should be drawn up as to the phy- 
sical and moral condition of working 
people in Europe and America; 
to reduce the hours of labour to 
eight, and night work in so far as 
possible; to restrict and regulate 
the work of children of both sexes, 
and to promote the bodily, moral, 
and technical education of all ; to 
recommend and further co-operative 
production rather than co-opera- 
tive stores ; to recommend, to all, 
co-operative societies ; to convert 
one part of their joint income into 
a fiind for propagating their prin- 
ciples by example as well as by pre- 
cept — in other words, by promoting 
the establishment of new co-opera- 
tive factories as well as by teaching 
and preaching — ^in order to prevent 
co-operative societies fix)m degene- 
rating into ordinary middle-class 
joint-stock companies ; ail workmen 
employed, whether shareholders or 
not, ought to share alike. With re- 
gard to trades unions, the Congress 
announced that, however necessary 
for the guerilla fights between capital 
and labour, they were still more 
important as organised agencies 
for superseding the very system of 
wages and labour. Too exclusively 
bent upon the local and immediate 
struggles with capital, the trades 
unions have not yet fully under- 



78 



The International Worlcing Men's AnsociaOon, 



stood their power of action against 
the system of wage slavery itself. 
They therefore kept too much apart 
from general and political move- 
ments. Trades unions must con- 
sider themselves as the champions 
and representatives of the whole 
working class'; they must carefully 
look after the interests of the worst 
paid trades, such as the agricultural 
labourers rendered powerful by ex- 
ceptional circumstances. They must 
convince the world at large that 
their efforts, far from being narrow 
and selfish, aim at the emancipation 
of the down- trodden millions.^ 

It will be instructive to compare 
the transactions and general spirit 
of the first Congress with those of 
the fourth, held at BcLle, in 1869. 
There is nothing that can be called 
revolutionary in the programme 
just cited, and if we except one 
passage, the liberty of others was 
not threatened by such a coalition ; 
whilst at Bale not only private pro- 
perty was abolished by vote, but the 
right of inheritance was very nearly 
going with it. No wonder that in 
these early stages the Red Republi- 
cans regarded the International with 
suspicion. It is said that Blanqui 
assailed its members as Bonapartists 
in disguise. 

'Those fellows will postpone the barri- 
cades/ he said.' 

*We shall/ they answered; *we shall 
make men happy.' 

*Then they will not fight. If you drive 
them from their faith — the worship of a 
social and democratic republic — they will 
sink into beasts of burden.' 

*If their homes are cheery and their 
children fed and taught, w^hy should they 
go into the streets and fight ? What woidd 
Qiey gain ? What they might lose we know 
— their health, their work, and perhaps 
their lives. What would they gain, except 
a tyrant with a newer name ? ' 

The passage before referred to in 
the Geneva programme as indicative 



of the necessity, if not the \ 
bility, of reconstructing socic 
fol lo ws : ^ In a rational stat-e o 
no able-bodied adult persoi 
to be exempt from the gene 
of nature — namely, to work 
to be able to eat, and to work 
with the brain, but the hand 
doctrine we cannot, howe^ 
Socialist, since it had beei 
ciated long before Fourier an 
revelled in the vision of a 
society — in which all should 
bute equally to the univers 
being. He who will not 
neither shall he eat, is a wh 
axiom enough, though not t< 
countered without suspicion 
working men avowedly ass 
for the purpose of improvin 
own condition. 

The eyes of the French C 
ment were now fixed upon 
tion, formidable even in it 
stages, to a power founded 
restriction of personal libert; 
proceedings of the French b 
had been all along hampered 
French law prohibiting the 
bling of more than twenty pt 
but this tyrannical exercise of 
to use the words of the Intern 1 
was a damage that the Interns 
ists had nothing in it especial 
dious. It was an injury ii 
primarily on the whole Frei 
tion, and secondarily upon 
advanced Liberal and Demo 
Europe, all of whom had an i 
in the right of public meel 
France. It would have be 
height of folly on the part 
General Council or the deleg 
the Congress to court and in\ 
hostility of the French Gover 
They went about the weight; 
ness in hand, and did not c 
to the right or the left for tl 
pose of making an anti-Bona 
demonstration. There was p 



' Besolutions of the Congress of Geneva^ 1866. Printed by the Westminster ] 
Company, Drury Lauo. 
* Secret History of the Intematumal, Strahan & Co., 1 87 1. 



TJie International Working Men's Association, 



79 



•apacitj of delegate, at the 
igress, a naturalised British 

a native of Switzerland, 

Jules Gottraux, who, on 
• the Franco- Swiss frontier, 
rived of his papers and do- 
\ by the French police. A 
nl letter was drawn up bj 
noil to the Minister of the 

asking the restitution of 
ipers, but no notice what- 
18 taken of the memorial, 
ras only through the inter- 

of Lord Stanley that the 
^as returned. Among the 
ted documents were found 
ewspapers not taken from 
X, nor coming from Switzer- 
lU, but bundles of a Belgian 
f the International called La 
du Peuple. These had been 
n their way to France, and 
i seal of the Administration 
.lie Safety. The French 
fice was closed against any 
lication addressed by the 
to its agents in France, and 
cans were taken to harass 
ceedings and damage the 
on of the Association . Hints 
pown out that the Imperial 
id discovered papers proving 
rnational to be an organ of 
3m, but such papers were 
ight forward. 

ion has been made of Dr. 
!arx ; and of this remark- 
an — one of the foremost 

in the strange history 
as — it is necessary to say 

wordfe. It is universally 
ledged that to Dr. Marx the 

of the International in its 
ages was mainly owing, and 
) say his opponents — its final 
. I3om at Treves in i8i8, 
may be regarded as the 

of the Communistic party 
lany. Ho edited the llhei- 
Zcttung; was banished for 

published in that journal; 
) Paris, where, with Arnold 
and later with Heinrich 

he was associated in the 

UI.— NO. LXYII. NEW SERIES. 



work of a paper called Vorwilris, 
Banished from Paris, he went to 
Brussels, where he founded TAfso- 
ciation Internationale de la Demo- 
cratie ; forced to quit Brussels, he 
went to Cologne, and afterwards to 
London, where he resided, occupy- 
ing himself with politics, social 
economy, and literature. It must 
be borne in mind that thero now is 
another Socialistic working men's 
party in Germany — we use this term 
to avoid confusion of ideas with tho 
Schultz-Delitsch or self-help party 
mentioned elsewhere — and that this 
last is founded by the celebrated 
Lassalle, a disciple of Marx, also of 
St. Simon ; the main difference be- 
tween the two lies in the fact that 
the Lassalle party want co-operativo 
societies formed with State help, 
whereas the other, or Marx party, 
want to organise outside the State, 
and by degrees obtain the State 
power. It is difficult at the present 
time to form an accurate idea of the 
actual condition and prospect of 
tho movements owing to the strin- 
gent prohibitory laws against asso- 
ciation ; but that they are active 
none can doubt. 

Although his work on political 
economy, Das Kapitalj is well 
known in Germany, itis chiefly as the 
leading spirit of the International 
that Dr. Marx has played a con- 
spicuous part here. We believe 
that an abbreviated translation of 
this work — considered even by his 
opponents in the schism which led 
to the overthrow of the Association 
as tho best exposition of the Com- 
munistic idea — is to bo brought out 
shortly. In the meantime readers 
may be referred to a recent number 
of the Fortnightly Revieiv for a brief 
summary of Dr. Marx's theories on 
capital and labour. Capital, in Dr. 
Marx's eyes, when possessed by a 
comparatively small class, as is now 
the case, is the most terrible scourge 
of humanity. His theory of value is 
that of Ricardo — namely, that tho 
value of one article is to the value 

G 



80 



The International Working Men's Association, 



of another as the length of time 
necessary for the production of the 
one is to the time necessary for 
the production of the other; or, 
as he expresses it, the socially 
necessary human labour — that is 
to say, the customary labour essen- 
tial in a given condition of society 
—is the measure of value. Only 
labour can impart value, and Dr. 
Marx enounces from this proposi- 
tion the following conclusions: 
All value over and above the 
equivalent of the material, wages, 
and capital employed — in odier 
words, sJl profit — ^is appropriated by 
the capitalist without remuneration. 
Profit consists of unpaid labour; 
capital feeds on the unremunerated 
portion of men's hours of work ; the 
capitalist, then, sponges on the pro- 
leteriat ; or, as far as one can make 
out, modem industry, according to 
Dr. Marx, is a vast system of 
raising money under false pre- 
tences. We quote here the words 
of the writer just mentioned, but a 
good deal of Dr. Marx's philosophy 
is to be gathered from the history 
of the International. Thus in one 
address we find the following pro- 
positions, which must have come 
from the pen of Dr. Marx himself : 
* The rapid development of modem 
industry, based upon the division of 
labour and the general adoption of 
the so-called politico-economic doc- 
trine of competition, has made the 
struggle for existence so intense as 
to render a change in the system 
imperative. The individual worker 
has become a mere mechanical 
agent, subject to the control of the 
capitalist, who, recognising no law 
but his own will, and using hunger 
as an instrument, extracts wealth 
out of the necessities of the worker 
and those of his wife and children ; 
so that while industry is becoming 
more and more productive, the 
workers are becoming poorer and 
poorer. The increase in the two 
extremes of great wealth and of ab- 
ject pauperism is proceeding at an 



equal ratio. Paradoxical as 
seem, the more the people p 
the less they have. Hen 
movement for the reduction 
hours of labour. Capital (\i 
but the surplusage of that ^ 
produced by labour), inst 
being the servant of its creal 
been its destroyer, and an int 
serfdom is thereby engende 
more fatal in its effects th 
which existed under feudalis 
much for Dr. Marx's the 
labour and capital, of w 
pretty accurate idea may 
thered from the various pai 
and documents published 
Association. Das Kapital 
out soon after Proudhon's 
on the Fallacies of Politico 
nomy^ and in a little chaptei 
The Miseries of Philosophy M 
swered Proudhon's chapter 
Philosophy of Misery with 
power and learning. It ha 
said of Marx that, *if he 
kings, he hated capitalist 
more; a cold, unsmiling m 
would have stripped a Crc 
his money rather than a Ka 
his crown.' 

A man of thought rathe 
of action. Dr. Marx still 
leading part in the transact 
the International during th 
mune, especially during tl 
Congress of La Hague, wh 
Association fell to pieces. 

Of a very different charac 
Tolain, who may be said to re 
the Conservative sid0 of the 
national. A working man o 
rous aspirations and consi 
intellectual attainments,Tolai 
subjected himself to the lea 
of others, but adhered faithi 
the line of thought and cone 
had at first laid down. V 
the stormy sittings of the Bt 
gross the Russian Nihilist Ba 
demanded the confiscation < 
the abolition of inheritance, f 
general winding-up of soci 
other words, the destruction 



The Inteimaiional Working Men^s Association, 



81 



religion, and maiTiage — 

made a noble protest on be- 
reason and hn manity. But he 
t heard, and, like many other 
ite men of consistent prin- 
retired from the International 
her. With these two were 
ted Odger, Cremer, Eccarius, 
, Hales, Lncraft, and many 
eading workmen of different 
ilities, whose first meetings 
leld in Grreek Street, Soho, 
trds in High Holbom, and 
sported in the Bee-Hive, the 
I Post, and other papers, 
li and foreign. Bakounine's 
I inflnenee was not felt till 

The friend and fellow-conn- 
i of Herzen was, like himself, 
ical refugee. 

3nnine was a Republican and 
klist, who stepped beyond the 
I of what is usually nnder- 
by Republicanism and So- 
Bakounine's creed was 

a negation of everything in 
the greater part of humanity 

; religion, government, his- 
•t, domestic ties — all these he 
fain have swept away, put- 
i their place a new society 
icted by and for the working 

idols of existing revolutionary 
were disclaimed as leaders 
le first, though the Association 
times in correspondence with 
* You make Mazzini the 
r of the International,' said 
1 when on his trial for be- 
^ to a secret society, *but 
hat object ? We have often 
I proclaimed that we want 
iours ; we will no longer be 
nents, and we believe that 
re power enough and know- 
enough of the situation to 
tand our interests better than 
I else.' Mazzini was in cor- 
ience with the Greneral Coun- 
wever, and at one of the 
9, Orsini gave an interesting 
t of an interview he had 
id with him on the subject. 



Mazzini, whilst having for thirty- 
five years preached the abolition of 
the so-called * wages slavery,' one 
of the fundamental doctrines of the 
International, did not concur with 
all the sentiments of the original 
address. The programme was most 
probably not revolutionary, or, at 
least, political enough for Idazzini, 
in spite of the sympathy expressed 
for the cause of Poland. Orsini, 
whilst in the United States, had seen 
Wendell Phillips, Charles Sumner, 
and Horace Ghreeley, all of whom 
joined the Association ; also James 
Stephens, the Irish Republican. 
Blanqui, though at various times in 
correspondence with it, never be- 
came a member ; the more moderate 
leaders of the French Democratic 
party, Louis Blanc, Ledru Rollin,. 
Gambetta, and others, were too pre- 
eminently representatives of the so- 
called bourgeois republicanism to 
commend themselves to the Inter- 
national when it took a decided 
political course. 

During the years 1 866-1869 P^^" 
pagandism was carried on with 
great zest, and numerous sections 
were formed in various parts of 
Europe and America. The move- 
ment soon made progress in Ger- 
many, where Liebknecht and Bebel^ 
its first adherents, were elected to 
the Reichstag by the working men 
of Saxony, Austria, Italy, Belgium. 
Holland, Belgium, and France soon 
numbered many large and important 
sections, seven hundred and fifty 
women enrolling themselves on the 
list at Lyons alone. Women were 
admitted to the Councils, and even 
took part in the discussions, though 
the equality of the sexes, as a 
principle, was not enunciated in 
the earlier stages. That the As- 
sociation all idong was in sym- 
pathy with the 'emancipation of 
women ' is evident by the invita- 
tion sent by the Council to Mrs. 
Law to attend the Congress of 
Lausanne, a paper on The Bights 
of Women by that lady having 

2 



82 



The International Working Men*s Association, 



given xnucli satisfaction. Mrs. Law 
was later admitted as a member of 
the Council, and made some very 
good speeches on various occasions, 
always, however, of extreme Social- 
istic tendencies. Ladies who had 
no connexion whatever with the 
Association were, though we believe 
very rarely, admitted by courtesy 
to the sittings of the General 
Council, and treated with extreme 
politeness. This respectful attitude 
towards the weaker sex, and un- 
compromising recognition of the 
social and intellectual equality of 
both, should be remembered by those 
who, whilst accepting these doc- 
trines firom another platform, hold 
the International as a term of re- 
proach, and refuse to believe that 
anything good would ever come out 
of the council chamber which after- 
wards raised a voice on behalf of 
the Commune. In an able paper on 
the organisation and principles of 
the International, drawn up by Mr. 
Hales, at that time secretary, the 
complete political and social equality 
of women is laid down as one of 
the fundamental doctrines ; and in 
'pamphlets reprinted by the Not- 
tingham branch in 187 1 'it is 
enounced, that the emancipation of 
women is one of the most important 
steps of the social movement does 
not require much argument ; their 
importance as a social force in 
human affairs is palpable to all, and 
the education of both sexes, which 
is now acknowledged to be neces- 
sary, carries with it the recognition 
of their equal rights. Being en- 
dowed with the same powers and 
•capacities, though in different de- 
grees — in some the man being su- 
perior, in some the woman, and 
in the social capacities the woman 
being better endowed than the man 
— the demand for the recognition 
of the equal rights of woman must 
be acceded to before the social move- 
ment can develop its full results.* 
' There is one fiillacy,* the writer 
goes on to say, * of the opponents of 



equal rights — both those 
pose equal rights for all 
also those who resist eqi 
for women — which I sh 
point out; they assume 
claim for eqaal rights in 
claim of an equality of pc 
duties ; but it does nothii 
kind, the natural law beiu^ 
of rights, inequality of pc 
duties, for if rights dep< 
the natural powers of ir 
or sexes, there would hav 
scale of rights which in 
and complexity would li 
castes of India to scon 
there are no two individua 
alike in their capacities, 
will be, there would have 
rights depended on capa 
endless scale of rights 
ing as the powers of ir 
and sexes.* A passage w) 
tains much forcible a 
though not well put toget 
The International wen 
mere theory on the si 
women, and in the Coi 
Bale occurs an interestinj 
testifying how thorough 
sympathy expressed for tl 
sex. Palix, the delegate fro 
read a hari-owing accou 
trades union composed aim 
sively of women, ovalistes 
to whom pecuniary help 
given by the Association 
pears that these wretche 
among whom were childre 
ten, and eleven years of ac 
1848 worked sixteen, and 
places seventeen, hours, 
nineteen hours, a day for t 
able sum of one fi-anc tv 
centimes — that is to say, a 
day. In 1848 a strike wj 
ised, resulting in areducti 
hours' labour, and this 
things lasted till 1869, w 
another strike of some da 
tion, the hours of labour we 
reduced to ten, the wage 
ing unchanged. The ph} 
moral condition of thes 



Tlie International Working Men's Association, 



83 



ible. They slept under the 
the workshops, on filthy 
ds, the linen of which was 
nged twice a year. They 
the most part completely 
, and decimated by disease 
J. A great number filled 
itals, and many were yearly 
led for infanticide ; in fact, 
and hospitals might be 
le natural asylums of these 
eatures. Substantial help 
1 afforded them in a recent 
f the International, and was 
^ly acknowledged through 
th of their delegate. Again 
nother occasion the con- 
the tailoresses was brought 
the Council. Eccarius re- 
that in 1861 there were 
female tailors in London, 
' whom never worked less 
irteen, frequently sixteen or 
1, hours a day, occasionally 
t, for seven shillings or ten 
5 per week; children too; 
nr share in the economic 
came, as we have seen, 
requent consideration, and 
itude of protectiveness and 
ly towards women and chil- 
ist command the respect of 
I fact, there is something 
sublime in the fundamental 
of such an association, 
orking men and working 
of all grades and national i- 
>uld unite together for pur- 
brotherly help, counsel, and 
ancement, that from one 
the civilised world to the 
word of kindness and a 
succour should be offered to 
I distress by their brothers 
ers, that the meanest toiler 
feel himself under the shel- 
rm of a vaster and stronger 
onry than as yet the world 
amed of; here is an ideal at 
»etic, religious, stupendous, 
I the Utopias of famous 
•8 from time immemorial, 
ictically the working of the 
tiona]: in its earlier stages, 



whilst as yet politics were eschewed 
or only seldom handled, did tend 
to such a development of brotherly 
feeling and support between classes 
hitherto as wide apart as if they 
had no sufferings in common. 
Whether it was the * ovalistes ' of 
Lyons, the over-worked miners of 
Saxony, the locked-out men of dif- 
ferent countries, or the starving and 
naked Communist refugees, from 
first to last the Association held out 
a helping hand, and there can be no 
doubt that this interchange of ideas 
and good offices has greatly aided 
the education of the working men 
of all countries. 

The first occasion on which the 
International interfered in strikes 
with important results, was in that 
of the bronze- workers of Paris, one 
of the first working men's benefit 
societies connected with a trades 
union in accordance with the law 
of 1864. Before that time trades 
combinations were not permitted, 
although associations had existed, 
of great use in aiding the men to 
act together. In February 1867 
5,000 bronze- workers were locked 
out. An appeal on their behalf was 
made by the Paris committee to 
the General Council, and resolutions 
wera taken to aid the locked-out 
men. Three delegates were forth- 
with despatched to London, who 
were warmly received, and on their 
return gave the following account 
of their mission : * We visited the 
committees of some twenty unions,, 
comprising more than 200,000 mem- 
bers. Everywhere the ultimatum 
of our employers insisting on the 
dissolution of our society excited 
the energetic disapprobation of our 
brothers on this side of the Channel. 
That alone, they said, was enough 
to justify them in intervening. All 
the societies we visited voted sub- 
scriptions, which have either been 
remitted to us or are about to arrive 
in due course. We could not visit 
all the unions. We had, as you 
know, to return with all speed. 



84 



The International Working Men's Associaiion, 



[July 



The following are the societies with 
which we have been in relation : 
Gilders, compositors, engiueers, 
carpenters, cabinet-makers, French 
polishers, coach-makers (French 
branch of the International), curriert?, 
tin-plate workers, masons, exca- 
vators, hatters, shoemakers, iron 
moulders. Our friends in each com- 
mittee we visited undertook to go 
for us where we had not time to go 
ourselves. We may therefore hope 
that henceforth the solidarity of the 
workmen is established among all 
peoples desirous of seeing labour 
take the position it deserves.* The 
employers yielded, and their con- 
duct was mainly attributed to the 
intervention of the International. 
In England also it worked in the 
same way. On former occasions 
English employers had been accus- 
iomad, whenever a strike happened, 
ito procure foreign workmen at 
'lower wages ; and this very course 
•was taken in the disastrous agri- 
<x;ultural lock-out of 1874 ; but 
whilst the International was in force 
such a state of things was not per- 
mitted. STo flooner were the tidings 
lof a fitrike received at head-quar- 
ters, than the vaiious foreign cor- 
respondents were instructed to warn 
their fellow-workmen against ac^., 
cepting any offers of the kind. 
During the tailors' strike of 1869 
jti;^ importation of foreign hands 
was tihxis prevented, and the block- 
.cutters, hair-dressers, and wire- 
workers ^received similar support. 

The second Congress took place 
at Lausanne in 1867, upon which 
occasion between sixty and seventy 
delegates were present, and the 
foUojying motions were adopted : 
- * Co;^ress invites the members of 
ith^e International in ail countries to 
^^e their utmost influence to induce 
the trades unions to employ their 
funds in founding co-operative mills 
and workshops. Congress admits 
that mutual help should be given 
in every attempt to raise the rate 
pf wages, whilst declaring that ^ 



higher end is yet to be attained iu 
the suppression of wages altogether. 
Congress decides that all religious 
teaching should be discarded from 
public education. Congress is of 
opinion that the judges should be 
chosen by universal suffrage. Con- 
gross affirms that the social emanci- 
pation of the working classes is inse- 
parable from their political eman- 
cipation, and that the establishment 
of their political liberty is the first 
measure absolutely required.' An 
extract from the following address 
will give a very good idea of the 
attitude of the International abont 
this time : 

To the Trades Unionists of Great 
Britain and Ireland. 

Fellow Workiko Men, — Nearly four 
years liaro elapsed since a small num- 
ber of working men, belonging to dif- 
ferent countries, convened a public meet- 
ing at St. James's Hall, at which the 
International Working Men's Associaticm 
was established. They were doing the lig^ 
thing at tlie ri^ht time. During thatsptOB 
of time the Association has acquired s 
position that no other organisation hat ever 
attained in Europe. It is neither a rival of 
nor in conflict with any working men'i 
organisations ; on thn contrary, it aims at 
utilising and extending the influence of 
existing organisations in all countries, }jj 
endeavouring to bring about a common 
undertaking and promoting common action 
between them. 

As to its character, though it advocates 
complete political freedom, it is not a poli- 
tical association in the old acceptation of 
the term. While aiding all progressive 
movements it avoids the contending factioDS* 
well knowing how futile it would be to 
expect any real amelioration in the condi- 
tion of the labouring poor by trusting to 
the capitalists as a class. Slanderers assert 
that the Association has provoked strikes ; 
it has not done any such thing ; but it has 
enabled working men to resist lock-outs and 
successfully terminate strikes rendered 
inevitable by the encroachments, bad faith, 
and wanton conduct of employers. The 
fundamental principle of the Association is, 
that the produce of labour ought to be the 
property of the producer; that the brother- 
hood of labour should be the basis of 
society ; and that the woriLing men of all 
countries should throw aside their petty 
jealousies and national antipathies, and 
P)ak9 common cause with each other in 



Tlie Intematimial Working Men's Association, 



85 



^le *\\\i capital. Labour is of 
y. Working meo havo the ikime 
ntend witli everywhere. Capital 
cumulated labour. Why should 
rer be the slave to that which he 
If produced ? Too long have tlie 

profited by the national isohition 
IS of toiL Foreign competition 
's furnished a plea for the rednc- 
^es. For a long time the trades 
\ this kingdom sufficed to keep 
Free trade has worked a change. 
nental workmen work longer hours 
loney than the Britisli do. If this 
yet producing cheaper than others, 

to a higher development of her 
r. The distance in the race be- 
! British and Continental manu- 
for the prices in the market of 
I is rapidly diminishing; the 
ahead, but only just ahead, 
acts ought to convince the British 

of the importance of the Inter- 
Associatioa. It has everywhere 
Qtinent fostered the formation of 
ions, and served as an engine for 
imon and fniternal action. In 
la lock-out of the Paris bronze- 
as characteristic. 1,500 men were 
It and 4,000 threatened to be 
it» unless they abandoned their 
med Trade Society — one of the 
: were formed after the British 
3y the aid of the International 
lination of employers was defeated, 
en the trades unions have be- 
utralised in France» and the 
mt, alarmed at the progress of the 
>Dal Association, has again and 
ed to suppress it by fining and 
ng the Executive Com mitt to of 
Ji Switzerland the strike in the 

trades of Geneva resulted in a 

of the hours of labour and an 
sf wages per day. But the mas- 
gave in after they had ascertained 
stent the men received supplies 
road. Instead of crushing the 
>n, the action of the master 
iias tended to increase its influence, 
gium the International Associa- 
played an equally prominent part, 
[uence of the general crisis in the 
ides, the directors of the mines 
upon working only four diiys a 
b make sure of the shareholders' 
I they gave peremptory notice of a 
cent, reduction of wages. The 
fused to continue working on' such 
s, and the Government tried the 
e influence of powder and shot ; 
re killed, many more wounded and 
xL At that stage the Brussels 
« stepped In. They procured 
■id for the wounded, pecuniary 
or the boreft, and counsel for the 



imprisoned. Since then they have suc- 
ceeded in establishing a miners' union in 
the coal basin of Charleroi. The untu- 
tored miners have thus been brought within 
the bonds of labourers' brotherhood, which 
will be a safeguard against their oppressors 
riding rough-shod over them on a future 
day. 

In Germany, on the occasion of Count 
Bismarck proposing a reform of the tariff, 
the Chamber of Commerce of Barmen and 
Elberfeld (the Prussian Manchester) objected 
on the ground that the Prussian manufac- 
turers could not compete with the English 
without a reduction of wages — a course that 
could not be pursued without danger in the 
face of the rapidly spreading influence and 
prompt action of the International Associa- 
tion. ... To Britisli trades societies 
it has rendered signal service by furnishing 
special information from abroad when re- 
quired, and by circulating correct accounts 
of their disputes all over the Continent, 
and thus prevented the employers frdm 
obtaining foreign labour to supplant that of 
their own men. In the accusation against 
the Paris Committee the Imperial prosecutor 
stated one of the chief reasons for demand- 
ing the condemnation of its members was 
that they had not only brought an excessiva 
influence to bear upon all strikes in France^ 
but had efficiently supported those infor^gn 
countries, and as instances he stated that 
during the strikes of the English zinc- 
workers, tailors, and railway employes the 
Paris Committee had prevented Fteosk 
workmen fsom proceeding toEnglai^d. • ; ..> 

The ever-ready cry of the British cajpii-, 
talist that wages must be reduced because 
the workmen on the Continent work longer 
hours for le.ss money than the British,- can 
only be effectually met by endeavouring to 
approximate the hours of labour and the 
rate of wages throughout Europe. This is 
one of the missions of the International 
Working Men's Association, and its annual 
congresses one of the most efficient means 
to accomplish it. At those gatheringi the 
spokesmen of the working classes of different 
countries meet each other face to face. The 
exchange of ideas which is brought about 
in private conversation outside the regular 
meetings exercises as great, if not a greater, 
influence than the regular debates. It is 
there where everybody says what he has to 
say, and makes enquiries as to what people 
think of kindred topics elsewhere. At the 
London Conference of 1865 the French 
and Swiss delegates expressed it as their* 
conviction that trades unionism would never 
take root on tiie Continent. At the Con- 
gress of 1869 there were upwards of forty 
delegates representing Continental trades 
societies formed on the British model. 
The seed that had been sown in London had* 
borne fruit. 



86 



The International WorJcing Men's Associatmu 



[July 



The next important) event in the 
history of the International was the 
persecution of its French sections. 
From the first the Association dis- 
claimed the title of a secret society, 
and had, on the contrary, sought 
publicity ; but its French members 
were nevertheless summoned to the 
tribunal on the charge of belong- 
ing to an unauthorised society of 
more than twenty persons, whose 
governing body sat in London, and 
of being dangerous to society. ' The 
prisoners who appear before you,* 
said the Imperial prosecutor to the 
court, ' are industrious, honest, and 
intelligent working men. They have 
never been condemned before to- 
day. No stain is on their moral 
character. In justifying the course 
we take against them I have not 
one word to say against their 
honour.* Tolain and the other ac- 
cused members defended themselves 
admirably, but were nevertheless 
condemned to a fine of lOO francs 
each; and the dissolution of the 
Paris branch of the International 
Working Men's Association was de- 
creed. Two months later nine 
other members were tried and con- 
denmed to three months* imprison- 
ment at St. Pelagic. 

In spite of these persecutions 
correspondence was kept up by the 
French members individually with 
the General Council, and the cause 
was gaining in force. In 1868 the 
builders of Geneva, who had locked 
out their men for refusing to quit 
the International, were defeated by 
the pecuniary aid forwarded from 
the English, French, German, and 
Belgian sections — an occurrence 
which greatly strengthened the As- 
sociation in Switzerland. In August 
of the same year a hundred and 
twenty newly created trades unions 
affiliated themselves with the Inter- 
national. These, however, belonged 
to Middle and Southern Germany, 
the North German societies being 
forbidden this course by law. It must 
be remembered that trades unionism 



was only just planted on German 
soil, and had developed with extra- 
ordinary rapidity. Out of the So- 
cialist-Democratic parties repre- 
sented by Lassalle and Schultz- 
Delitsch — the first an advocate of 
the most violent democratic mea- 
sures; the latter, a temperate 
leader of the Fortsckritt or Progress 
party, and the so-called father of 
co-operation in Germany — had been 
formed a new one, which, meeting 
in congress at Eisenach, 1869, 
adopted the programme of the In- 
ternational. Just as the Paris mem- 
bers were prohibited by law from 
corporate affiliation to any foreign 
society, so these could only send in 
their individual adhesion. In Aus- 
tria the working-class movement 
was spreading equally fast, and 
equally in the teeth of legal re- 
straint and opposition. In 1868 the 
Socialist- Democratic centres of Vi- 
enna, Pesth, and Pressburg corre- 
sponded with the General Council, 
and sent delegates to the Bale Con- 
gress, and from that time under- 
went a series of violent persecutions. 
The Volkstimme and Gleicklieit, both 
organs of the Association, were sup- 
pressed, and in July 1869 the 
delegates were put on their trial 
for high treason. In spite of the 
admirable manner in which they 
defended themselves, and the gene- 
ral sympathy enlisted on their 
behalf, they were condenuied, 
Oberwinder and Sehen to six and 
five years* penal servitude respec- 
tively, and the rest to shorter i^rvos 
of imprisonment. Just after this 
the workmen's clubs and seventy- 
five trades unions of Vienna were 
dissolved, which act of despotism 
aroused an outburst of popular feel- 
ing; nearly 60,000 persons took 
part in a public demonstration ; the 
troops were called in, and many 
were killed and wounded. 

It is impossible in a brief survey 
like thepresent to describe the trans- 
actions of the International in full, 
which up to this time bore chiefly on 



] 



The Iidenialional WciJcing Men's Aeeocialion. 



imic qnestions. Whenever an 
Ttant Btmggle occnrred be- 
t labour and capit&I, the Asso- 
n stepped in to aid the canse 
5b er wages and reduced hoars 
war. These objects, and these 
, at first occupied the General 
,ctl, and for the oBence of com- 
igto obtain them the French and 
nan members were sent to pri- 
ike common felons. Hotfaingofa 
lotionaTy character was proved 
lat them, because nothing re- 
ionar^r had been att«mpt«d. 
' had simply wished to raise 



87 

the condition of their fellows, mo- 
rally, socially, and politically, by 
means of combination. Had the 
International stopped short here, 
had ifc held aloof from Utopian theo- 
ries of right and equality, had it 
turned a deaf ear to unwise leaders 
and steadily adhered to the pro- 
gramme originally laid down, there 
can bo no doubt that the working 
classes might have achieved more 
for themselves in a generation than 
legislators and benefactors coald in 
many. Bnt it was not so. 
(To be continued,) 




88 



[July 



ESSAY OX POETICAL TRANSLATION. 
By Francis W. Newman. 



WHAT shall be the form of Poeti- 
cal Translation ? is a problem 
wholly separate from the other, 
What is the best form for an origi- 
nal Poem? 

Those who have an inward im- 
pulse to original poetry will not at- 
tend to general discussion, but will 
settle the question in their own way. 
Nevertheless, we may perhaps say 
that our cultivated public in general 
is agreed in the opinion, that, for 
short poems and all lighter versifi- 
cation, rhyme is desirable ; but for 
long poems and poems of high aim 
rhyme is less suitable. It seems to 
be undeniable that the use of rhyme 
too easily satisfies the ear, and is 
adverse to the cultivation of various 
and melodious rhythm ; yet in every 
grand poem rhythm is of first-rate 
importance. 

Just so in translation. If your 
original is light or without any 
marked perfection in form, it is 
better translated with rhyme. To 
try to introduce an excellence which 
it has not is not fedthfulness. To 
adhere at all closely to the words 
is superfluous as well as unpleasing. 
If you may deviate from them con- 
siderably, the demand of rhyme is 
not painfully severe; and rhyme 
easily gives sufficient form for your 
purpose. I will add the concession 
that where, for instance, Greek Tra- 
gedy is comparable in spirit to the 
modem opera; where dialogue is 
short and -rapid, perhaps in half- 
Imes, which in the Greek eminently 
needed the support of music, rhyme 
is our most obvious aid. Such pas- 
sages may have deep pathos, but 
they seldom have any other quali- 
ties of high poetry. But when the 
original has great perfection, and 
marked peculiarities of form, and 
specially chosen diction, the duty 
of faithfulness becomes more and 



more incumbent on the translator 
— more and more difficult. I else- 
where compared his problem to that 
of a draughtsman who has to imi- 
tate Assyrian sculpture with the 
pencil; thereupon a critic inter- 
preted me as recommending indut' 
trial imitation ! Of coarse the pih>- 
blem is eminently artistic ; but the 
artist is not at liberty to smooth 
away peculiarities of the original, 
and introduce turns which are to 
us customary and more pleasing. 
Accidental failures and errors of the 
original he need not reproduce, hat 
in proportion to its real merit he is 
bound to adhere to whatever in it 
is systematic. There are ancient 
poets who, because of the inade- 
quacy of our language, if translated 
at all, are perhaps best rendered in onr 
prose : such is Pindar. The French 
in general prefer prose. Never- 
theless, where the original is in 
metre, a total sacrifice of metre is ft 
severe loss ; and very few English- 
men will read through the translft- 
tion of a foreign poet if it be exe- 
cuted in prose. For nearly all 
Latin and Greek poets our metres 
may be used. Precisely because so 
few of us seem to discern the powers 
of our language to develop unrhymed 
metre, I was impelled to translate 
the Odes of Horace, as affording ft 
large variety of specimens how 
stanzas may be constructed. 

It may be worth while here to 
remark that there are original poets, 
still living or recently dead, who 
think the substance of their poetry 
so valuable that they may quite 
disembarrass themselves of all con- 
cern about the melody, energy, and 
elasticity of their rhythm. To talk 
to them of accent and cfesora, to 
complain of loads of consonants and 
lumber, would be utterly useless so 
long as they have a public which 



1875] 



Essay on Poetical Translation. 



89 



will praise aud buy their books for 
the sake of the philosophy (I sup- 
pose) which fe contained in them. 
But no translator can claim the 
exemptions which these writers as- 

■ sume. The material pre-exists ; he 

■ who undertakes to translate is bound 

■ to present it in a form and dress as 

■ analogous to the original as the 

■ change of language permits. He 

■ has no right to turn a most elegant 
* Greek ode into our coarsest, rudest 
' blank verse, marred by unpro- 
nounceable combinations of -ts, st . . 
and other consonants, and utterly 
destitute of the original grace. 
Every translator has a constant 
duty, in line after line, of studying 
long and short, ca)sura and accent, 
as much as an Eton schoolboy. 
One who fancies that his genius 
can supersede this will only suc- 
ceed in proportion as he is careless 
of conforming to the original. 

All schoolboys are probably aware 
of certain elementary &ct8, which 
nevertheless may here fitly be re- 
cited. Our metres belong to two 
classes widely contrasted — those in 
which the beats of the voice fall on 
alternate syllables, and those in 
which two strongly accented syl- 
lables are separated by two unac- 
cented. The former are called (in- 
accurately) lambio or Trochaic ac- 
cording as the beats are on the even 
or the odd syllables; the latter (also 
inaccurately) are called Anapaestic 
or Dactylic. This latter class is apt 
to be either light and dancing or 
eminently prosaic. A Cambridge ma- 
thematician is said to have unawares 
expressed an Optical Theorem in 
words which opened : * If parallel 
rays come contrary ways, and fall 
upon opposite sides . . . ' This form 
of metre can only by exception be 
used in high poetry, and then with 
the greatest care to avoid unpleasant 
flatness. By making the unaccented 
^llables sensibly long^ and securing 
that some marked passion shall be 
expressed, much may be done to 
counteract the evil. The excited 



double dochmee of the Greek Tra- 
gedians, I fancy, may sometimes be 
rendered in this metre. As a speci- 
men of what I mean I will pro- 
duce an experiment which I long 
since made in the Agamemnon of 
^schylus, where the chorus bm'sts 
into fury at the murder of Agamem- 
non by his wife. 

(Strophe.) womnn, what Evil earth-nur- 

tur'd hath fed thee, 
What draught from the briny wave stream- 
ing hath lill'd thco, — 
For incense, to lay public curso on thy 
head ? 
Thou hast foU'd and cut off, and shalt out- 
cast be deem'd, 
To the townsfolk a direful abhorrence. 

{Antistr.) Proud schemer art thou, and too 

lofty thy vauntings. 
As with gore-dripping fortune thy spirit is 
frenzied. 
Behold! on thy forehead outblazcth a 
drop 
Of blood unaveng'd. Sti 11 destined art thou, 
Eoft of friends, blow for blow to encounter. 

So much I have written just to 
show that I do not venture wholly 
to proscribe this class of unrhymed 
metres in the translation of high 
pocitry ; but I believe it can so sel- 
dom be used with advantage, that 
I intend to say no more about it 
now, and to confine myself to the 
other class, in whicb the beats are 
alternate. When we have either 
four or three beats in each line, the 
rhythm is adapted to music, as is 
manifest both in our Psalm tunes 
and our ballad tunes. But a line 
with 5 beats is less musical and 
more oratorical. 

Such is our * Heroic' measure, 
whether in Blank Verse, or in Pope's 
Couplets, or in Spenser's Stanza, 
or in the Sonnet, or in the imitations 
of Ariosto's metre. This 5-foot 
verse belongs to higher cultivation 
than the Ballad, and in it great 
variety of rhythm has been develop- 
ed, eminently by Milton and finally 
by Thomson, who perhaps brought 
* Blank Verse ' (so called) to its per- 
fection. The prevalent monotony 
in the rhymed couplet, in contrast 



90 



Essay an Poetical Translation, 



[July 



to the varied melody when rhyme is 
absent, is certainly a marked fact. 

This ' Iambic metre/ in which the 
beats fall on the even syllables, is 
alone suited for a long poem, for 
the cardinal reason that in our lan- 
guage sentences and clauses habit- 
ually and naturally begin with 
unaccented syllables, such as articles 
(The, A), conjunctions (If, When, 
&c.. And, But, Or), fronouns (He, 
His, Our) and other small words. 
Besides, by a liberty universally 
conceded, this metre admits in the 
first foot ap inversion of the beat 
{i.e. what is called a Trochee instead 
of an Iamb), so that great ease of 
composition results. No such liber- 
ty is granted to the Trochaic metre. 
V ersitiers indeed (from mere laziness 
apparently) do take liberties with 
it which I regard as inadmissible. 
For me, the first syllable must ad- 
mit of a strong accent, and the se- 
cond syllable must generally be 
sensibly shorter than the first, to make 
a Trochaic line melodious ; and this 
is too severe a requirement to fulfil 
continuously. But it appears to 
me that neither our poets nor our 
translators rightly esteem the great 
additional power of compacting 
vigorous stanzas, which the Tro- 
chaic opening of the line gives us. 
Does anyone ask me, Why is a 
stanza wanted ? I may reply, Why 
did Sappho make a stanza ? Why 
did AlccBus? Why do Catullus 
and Horace write oftener with a 
stanza than with a continuous mo- 
notony of line ? I cannot doubt 
that the Epic recitative tired them. 
One nation in Europe still keeps up 
the Greek system of making metres 
depend on Quantity, not on Accent, 
namely, the Hungarians ; but their 
best poets so complain of monotony 
that, in a poem of any length, 
they frequently change the metre. 
We know that Sappho, Alcseus, and 
Horace all were glad of the lyre as 
an accompaniment. Horace often 
tells us how much he counts on the 
aid of a music girl ; still, the poetry, 



though written for music, was 
much oftener read than sung, the 
musician not being at hand. This 
made a vast change from the Tragic 
choruses. When a play was elabo- 
rately got up at the expense of the 
State, and the singers were drilled 
hy the poet, who controlled alike 
music and words, fixed stanzas were 
not thought of. The music was 
allowed its free swing, though we 
see strong tendencies to certain 
final cadences. But when music 
was taken away, it was hard to 
know how to sing or read, unless 
fixed intelligible cadences recurred. 
Out of this, eridently, arose the 
principle of a Stanza. This holds 
equally with us, though our rhythm 
is no longer based on music. Few 
Englishmen are content with Mil- 
ton's choruses in Samson Ago- 
nizes as fulfilling their desires of 
poetical melody. The ear never 
knows what to expect, and is fre- 
quently disappointed. Thus to me 
it is almost an axiom that we must 
have either a single rhythm re- 
peated or a stanza. We do not 
forbid the first by valuing the 
second. 

By adopting a Trochaic line of five 
beats with the general rhythm of our 
Epic Blank Verse, we at once get a 
powerful new metro for lyric use. 
This I find highly suited to Horace's 
Exegi monumeiitum, &c. 

1 not all shall perish. Funeral-Queen! 
Still a goodly part of me shall shun 
Thjr recording. I, in later praise, 
Fresh shall thrive, long as the silent maid 
Climbs the Capitol in Pontiff's train. 

Here we get all the energy and 
variety of rhythm which charac- 
terises our Epic Verse, with just 
enough innovation to make it felt 
as Lyric, not Epic. Let it be ob- 
served (for few seem to bo aware) 
that the successive beats ought sel- 
dom to be all of equal strength, 
and perhaps never at equal inter- 
vals of time. For energy and elas- 
ticity the syllables mast at one 
moment be quicker, at another 



1875] 



Essay on Poetical Translation, 



91 



slower; and, to avoid monotony, 
it is important to have the chief 
boats differently placed in different 
lines, sometimes fallinof on long 
syllables, sometimes on short. Thas 
in the last line above, the accented 
syllables Climbs, Font-, Train^ are all 
long : but in Cdpitol the first 
syllable is very short, but strongly 
accented, the third is short and 
very feebly accented. To illus- 
trate another fact, that modern 
poetry is antagonistic to the ancient 
doctrine of Equable Times, take the 
following : 

Oh Pierian maid, "whose touch 
Sweetly modulates the golden shell ; 

Who at pleasure canst bestow 
Swan-like melody on fishes mute. 

We may observe that, owing to the 
double accent on the trisyllable 
words modulates^ melody, the accent 
on the last syllable is not only very 
weak, but is hurried. Let us alter 
this, which it is easy to do. For 
instance — 

Oh Pierian maid, whose touch 
Tunes the g6lden sh^ll to utterance sweet ; 

Thou, who canst at pleasure lend 
Notes of plaintive swan to fishes mute. 

No one of these lines is in itself 
bad; yet in combination they are 
more monotonous than the first ver- 
sion, because the accents are more 
equable and more equably timed, 
of which we very soon tire. The 
sweetness of a verse depends on the 
ease of utterance, the due propor- 
tion of broad soft vowels, and ab- 
sence of troublesome consonants; 
somewhat perhaps also on equable 
times; but the enei'gy depends on 
unequable and unequal accent, fall- 
ing sometimes on broad and strong, 
sometimes on short and weak 
vowels. 

> iWhile the ordinary Epic Blank 
Verse seems to me to need cautious 
and rare use in lyrics, it yet be- 
comes highly suitable when elon- 
gated by a very short syllable, with 
the preceding accent energetic. 
We may call this a line of 5^ 
lambs. 1 find that it makes an 



excellent couplet with either a 4-foot 
Iambic or 'a 3-foot Iambic preceding. 
Thus in Horace's Epode 15 : 

'Twus night, and in the sky serene 
The Moon among the smaller lights was ' 
shining ; . . . 

or in ^schylus, Fromethcus, 

Never may all -disposing Jove, 
With sway o'ermatching, my resolves en- 
counter ; 

Nor to approach the gods may I 
Be slack, with kine for holy banquet 
slaughter'd 

On margin of my Ocean-Sire*s 
Exhaustless channels, nor in words be 
guilty! 

This stanza I find quite to satisfy 
the ear. When the first line of the 
stanza is only 3 feet, it admits 
of being doubled at pleasure, giving 
new variety. I^irst, taking it single, 
I thus translate from the first chorus 
of Sophocles* Antigone, concerning 
Capaneus attacking Thebes : 

(Strophe 2.) Foil'd in his frantic rush. 
Though still with blasts of hate against us 

raving, 

Down dropt he, torch and all. 
And heavy rung on Earth, who upward 

flpurn'd him, &c. 

(Antistr. 2.) Eut now since Victory 
Mighty of name at length is come, rejoicing 

In car-borne Theba's joy ; 
Henceforth forget we battle's past annoy- 
ance, &c. 

Again, if we double the first line of 
the stanza, making it an Alexan- 
drine, we get an excellent rhythm. 
Eurijpidls Alcestls : 

Therefore at Boibis' meor | bright stream- 
ing, holdeth he 
A hearth with flocks innumerous aye 
abounding ; 
And sets, for acres ploughed | and leas out- 
spread, his bound 
Tow'rd where the sun his darkling car 
arrrsteth, 
Molossia's lofty clime: | but tow'rd the 
2Eg6an main, — 
Shore havenless, — o'er P61ion he reigneth. 

The Alexandrine also admits an 
additional syllable at the end ; then, 
perhaps, the second line is better 
without it. Take Horace, Epode 
16: 



92 



Essay on Poetical Translaiion. 



There sprouts the olivo shoot | with bloom 
undisappointing, 
And the dark fig her proper tree adorns. 
With light foot brawling leaps | the stream 
from lofty mountains, 
And honey trickles from the hollow ho'm. 
There to the constant pail | come the slie- 
goats unbidden, 
And the dear flock show udders alway 
full. 

Other slight variations yield equally 
good rhythm, and may often enable 
US to make a stanza commensurate 
with the original. I take another 
example from the Antigone, and 
write the stanzas in three separate 
lines, 3^, 3i, si : 

{Str. I.) Lore, in fight unconquer'd ; 

Love, who on* proud souls fallest, 
And nightly restost on soft cheek of maiden ; 

Who sea-traversing roamest. 

Or where field-dwellers nestle ; 
Thee none escapeth even of immortals. 

Us, creatures of a moment, 
Whomever of us thou enterest, frenzy seizeth, 

(Antistr. i.) And thou to lanjust outrage 

Even just hearts pervertest. 
And now mid heroes stirrest kinsman's 
anger. 

Enchantment in the eyelids 

Of damsel ripe for wedlock 
Doth signal triumph, Counsellor high-sented 

With Sanctities primaeval. 
For matchless sports among them Love's 
great goddess. 

Here it will be observed that two 
stanzas of 3^, 3^, 5^ are followed 
by a third stanza of two lines only, 
321 si > 7®^ ^^® genius of the stanza 
remaining, no shock is felt by the 
ear. Thus we can keep closer to 
the Greek without embarrassment. 

Let us try the reverse order in 
another choral ode of the same 
play: 

Blest they, whose life the taste 
Of misery knows not ; for, when Heav'n-sent 
ruin 

Shatters a house, there lacks 
No weight of woe on kin promiscuous vented. 

Like as the briny billow 

On nether darkness riding. 



When panting* puff of Thracian 
rages, 
Uprolleth from the bottom 
Black heaps of foul confusion 
And the vext shores reply b^ 
moaning. 

These examples satisfy r 
we have here several very i 
new stanzas without rhyme. 

For Horace's Sapphics, wj 
generally mild or pLayftd, w 
get an effective substitute 
Iambic stanza of 4 lines, 
may be defined as 4^, 4^, 
2^. In a few places of the 
tragedians I have tried th 
make no doubt that a skil 
sifier can use it with effect, 
three or four efforts at tl 
aeXiov of the Antigone, ^s 
suppose all will call diffi 
could not keep so close to t 
ginal with any other metre 
1st Strophe as with this : 

ray of Sun, of all the fairest 
Keveal'd to Theba seven-gatod, 
Eyelid of golden day! late gleaminj 

O'er streams of Dirka ; 
We saw thee stir to foremost gallo 
With keener rein the fleeing hero, 
Who with white shield and full eq' 

From Argos started. 

Not knowing what music I 
herself used, which may hav 
very wild and plaintive, we 
say whether this English 
might have suited to transla 
poetry, if it were extant, 
does not concern us, if it w 
Horace or occasionally Eur 
In a more pretentious ode, 
Horace aims at grandeur, this 
suits well enough. Ode iv. ( 

As pine by biting iron smitten. 
Or cypress snapt by squall of Ei 
Down dropt he huge, in dust of. 
His neck abasing, &c. 

As a result of numerous < 
ments, I venture to assert fn 
decisions of my own ear (y\ 
cannot rightly assume that : 



* I conjecturally correct the inadmissible word kt^/mmti into X^/uuri. 
' SvinryHJoii xvSait, 



1875] 



Esaay on Foeiical Translation. 



93 



perienced cultivators of verse will 
agree with me), that the short nn- 
accented syllable at the end is a 
very great aid in contenting ns 
without rhyme. What is called a 
'double ending' seems to satisfy 
my ear. I first discovered this in 
substituting the modem Greek 
Epic metre for Homer's Epic. It is 
simply our commonest Ballad metre 
with a double ending, as in Camp- 
beU: 

By this tho storm grew lotid apace : { the 

"waterwraith was shrieking ; 
And in the scowl of hear'n each face | grew 

dark as they were speaking. 

Just drop the rhymes, and you 
have such lines as : 

Fop they no earthly viands eat, | nor drink 

they wine resplendent ; 
And therefore bloodless are they all, j and 

deathless are reputed. Hiad^ v. 341. 

Or again, Iliad x. 296 : 

"When to the child of mighty Jove | they 
thus had paid their worship, 

They hied to go, as lions twain, ( in gloom 
of night enshrouded, 

Mid carnage, over carcases, | through dusky 
gore and armour. 

It is sometimes of great import- 
ance to be able to express each line 
of the original in a separate line of 
the imitation. Not that it can be 
wise to bind ourselves to this, yet 
it is, often enough, so urgent that 
our line or stanza ought to be com- 
mensurate in compass to the task 
imposed. This is one of the ele- 
ments to be allowed for in the 
choice of a metre. 

A modification of Iambic metre 
well known to poets ought not here 
to be omitted. I have never seen 
it noticed by any metrical gram- 
marian. In it alternate accents are 
of double emphasis. An example 
from Agamemnon (3rd choral ode) 
will illustrate it sufficiently : 



(Str. I.) Who so veritably wise did the 

. Gaptivatress name, 

The spear- espoused Helen,' prize of 
strife ? 
"Was it one to us unseen, who a fate-presag- 
ing tongue 
Tnily guided? for she fitly ships and 
men 
And cities carried captive. 
From oiit the dainty weiilth of the bridal 
hangings she 
By Titan 2jephyr's breath sailed along ; 
And a shielded huntsmau-troop on her 
vanish'd oary track 
At SimoiV leafy banks pushM to shore, 
In a cause of gory quiirrel. 

{Antist. I,) It was purpose-working Wrath 
that inflicted her on Troy 
As a charge of Wedded-Care* truly 

named; 
To avenge in later time the dishonour of 
the board 
And of hearth-communing Jove upon the 
race 

Who perversely chanted Hymen, &c. 

One who undertakes the problem 
of finding a substitute for the Greek 
Dactylic Hexameter, may naturally 
be asked what he recommends 
when a Pentameter is joined ; nor 
is it easy to answer with any de- 
cision. Long poems in this Couplet, 
like Ovid's Epistles, seldom have 
enough high poetry in them to 
come into this discussion. Short 
pieces, such as abound in Greek 
collections of Epigrams, are some- 
times elaborately beautiful, and the 
powers of the English langnage are 
put on severe strain to reproduce 
any good imitation of their form. 
TyrteBus's spirited Elegeiacs are, I 
think, well enough translated into 
the metre indicated above, as used 
by me for Horace's Epode 16, viz. 
Iambic 6^ and 5. It is not more 
monotonous than the Hexameter 
and Pentameter. But for simple 
Greek inscriptions and other ditties 
of no great pretension in this metre, 
I thiii that an abrupt change in 
the second line of my Homeric sub- 
stitute succeedis as well as anything. 



' The poet translates tho name Helen to mean captivntress. 
* A pun in the Greek, untranslatable. 



94 



Essay on Poetical Translation. 



The following are remarkably close 
to the Greek : 

Four are the public games of Greece, | and 
all the four are sacred ; 
To mortal men do two belong : | two th' 
immortals claim. 
The names are Jove, Latona's son, | Arche- 
moros, Palaimon ; 
Their prizes are the olire wild, | apples, 
parsley, pine. 

Again: 

If to thy mind, Demosthenes! | thy body 
had been equal. 
Never had M>icedonian Mars | play'd the 
lord in Greece. 

When a Greek elegeiac is elabo- 
rately beautiful, I think it must be 
dealt with by a translator just as a 
choral ode. Each piece should be 
allowed to dictate its own metre ; 
no uniformity should be attempted, 
else the difficulty of the problem, 
already too great, is increased. 
Full use also should be made of 
Trochaic lines, of which I have now 
more to say. 

The Trochaic lines most familiar 
in English poetry are in 7 or 8 
syllables, with 4 beats in each 
line. In Psalm books a metre 
called * Eights and Sevens ' is Tro- 
chaic Tetrameter. This is, like the 
Ballad metre, closely allied to music, 
and is very spirited when followed 
by a 5^ Iamb. This I used for 
Horace's Ode i. 5 to Lucius Sestius : 

Now the winters keenness loosens ; | Spring 
and Zephyr's pleasing change 
Is come, and engines haul the dry-keel'd 
galleys. 

When an Elegeiac is very full of 
matter, with compound Greek epi- 
thets saying much concisely, this 
Btanza may not be at all too long. 
But it is probably too ringing and 
bold for a plaintive piece. 

The Trochaic line, when elongated, 
is still musical, and may be quite 
available in translation. The fol- 
lowing may rather be interpreted 
as Trochaic followed by Iambic : 

Varus! plant not other tree | before the 
sacred vine, 

All around Catillus' walls, | in Tibur's mel- 
low soil. II or. Od, i. 18. 



In longer lines still I gi\ 
from the Agamemnon . 

Jove ! whrtte'er thy nature be, | if 

name thou lovest. 
This will I to thee address ; | for. \ 

every other, 
Nought beside can I conjecture, | .^ 

name of Jupiter, 
If *tis right in sooth to scorn | Loiu 

solicitude, &c. 

Several modifications of th 
obvious. First, in a stanzc 
lines, as in a light piece of : 
(Ode, i. 8) : 

Why (I pray) abhors he now 

Sunlit course, who once could 

Dust and heat so bravely ? 

Next, in a stanza of 4 
{Prometheus) : 

Marriage, with my equal joinV 
Nought affrighteth me ; but n< 
Let celestial Love at me 
Dart its glance unerring. 

Further, in 5 lines, the 1 
them Iambic (telling who wc 
Prometheus) : 

{Strophe I.) All in land of Colchis d 

Miiidon-liearts, in fight undaui 

All the troop of Scythia, holdii 

Outmost range of earth, arouni 

The desolate pool, Mseotis : 

{Antist. I.) All Arabia's warlike bio 

Men who near Caucasian sumi 

Lofty dwell on cliffs encastled, 

Bristling sharp with fretful up 

— A terrible host, — bewail t 

But a far more oratorical 1 
when there are 5 Trochaic 
This holds the same relative p 
Trochaic metres as the 5 -foot 
Verse among Iambs. Not \ 
is suited for long continuant 
that it gives a new energ 
variety. In translating ' 
choruses, we may sometime 
for a short continuity the lin 
Trochees. Thus in the Prome 

{Str. I.) Wise, oh wise, was he, w 

by judgment 
Compassed, and in words the 

fashion'd, 
* Wed thy peer, and win the prize of n 
Venture not with those whom riches ] 
Nor with those by lofty birth disdai 
Thou of humble rank, to play the si 



Essay on Poetical Translation, 



95 



.) Never, never, ye Fates [primae- 

> in the bed of Jove espy me ! 

nay a heav'n-descending bridegroom 

me ! for ah ! I shrink, beholding 
>y Juno's wratli, in frightful roam- 
s' 

ste and timid maid, is mangled. 

in general I think 3 lines 
is form suffice, and that a 

1 is well ended by a fourth 
omewhat different ; such as I 
I Horace for the metre of Ode 



igrippa! touch not these achieve- 
mts, 

ilides* anger unrelenting, 
ruthless house, nor deep Dlixes 
ning wildly on Ocean-wjwe. 

5 alternate combination of 
aic with 4 beats and with 5, 
. peculiarly susceptible of ele- 
and pathos. In general it 
lot compass enough for the 
: Elegeiac, for which it might 
wrise be recommended. I am 
f satisfied with it as a substi- 
for Horace's familiar metre, 

urely round his heart had h^ 

id threefold brass, who dar'd to yield 

irk so frail to deep so fierce 

Df men ; nor fear'd South-western 

puffs 

ittling hard with stiff North-east, — 

rith Rainy name, nor frenzied South, 

lio than none less mighty sways, 

ig Hadria swell or sink at will. 

' a Greek chorus, which has 

ed other incantations, would 

I fancy, to this metre. An- 

adaptation to a stanza of 4 

is as follows : 

, ye maidens, her whom streams and 

groves 

aired please ; which jut from Cragus 

green, 

r Erymanth, black with woods, 
from Algidus* icy top. 

ler, the Iambic stanzas spoken 
ove may be modified by chang. 
ne of the Iambic lines, at plea- 
into Trochaic; that is, so as 
nstitute a new stanza, not as 
g liberty with the old. Thus, 
id of 

J. XIT. — NO. LXVII. NEW SERIES. 



'Twas night, and in the sky serene 
The Moon among the smaller lights was 
shining, 

where the stanza consists of 4 and 
5^ Iambs, we may change the 
second line into one of 5 Trochees, 
which adds to it somewhat of ab- 
ruptness and energy. Thus, of 
Helen escaping from Sparta (^Msch, 
Ag.): 

She to her townsmen left behind 
Clash of shield and spe:ir and naval armings, 

And as a dow'r to Ilion bare 
Kuin, — ^whilst with ill-adventur'd venture 

The gates she fleetly pass'd ; and much 
Groan'd the palace bards, the news pro- 

• claiming: 
* Ah, the house ! the house and royalty ! 
Ah, her couch, and steps of tenderness !' &c. 

From this Trochaic with 5 beats 
(accented on last syllable) I have 
at last satisfied myself with a sub- 
stitute for the Alcaic metre. In my 
translation of the Odes of Horace, 
published in 1853, I confessed that 
the substitute which I had adopted 
was too small in compass, and 
cramped me ; yet, trying in several 
directions, I could not gain without 
losing, and did not succeed. Years 
afterwards, coming to the problem 
quite afresh, I at once discovered 
that the two first lines of my Alcaic, 
instead of 4 Trochaic beats, must 
have 5 ; but that Trochaic the lines 
ought to remain. Even the most 
difficult of the Alcaic Odes, that to 
Drusus Caesar (Ode iv. 4), with 
its merciless long-winded opening, 
proved comparatively manageable. 
It must be noted that in every faith- 
ful translation the Alcaic Odes of 
Horace will always show to worst 
advantage, simply because they 
have nearly always more of moral 
thought in them and less flavour 
of poetry. Many of them are mere 
morality and rhetoric dressed up 
with great skill, by aid of the pecu- 
liar power of transposition and com- 
pact construction in which Latin 
80 fax excels us. Wherever the 
lack of true poetry is compensated 
in Latin by rhetorical art, transla- 
tion disenchants the reader. All that 



96 



Essay mi Poetical Translation. 



we can hope to do is to retain terse- 
ness and vigour, and present every- 
thing emphatically in the English 
which is emphatic in the Latin. 
Very many regard Horace's address 
to MsBcenas, * Tyrrhena regum pro- 
genies ' (Od. iii. 29), as the^finest of 
his Alcaics ; hence it is a good test 
of the capacity of a proposed metre. 
I am not ashamed of my new stanza 
when I make the trial : 

"Wisely God in murkiness of night 
Shrouds the issues of futurity, 

And laughs if heart of mortal flutter 
Too intent. But thou the Present 
Ever calm improve. The world runs on, 
Borne in fashion of a mighty flood, 
To Tuscan deep now down the channel 
Peaceful gliding, now engulfing 
Stones corroded, trunks of trees uptom, 
Flocks and habitations : nor the brawl 
Of hills and neighbouring woods is absent, 
When the deluge, wild descending. 
Tranquil pools disturbeth. 116 shall live 
Self-possest and glad, who day by day 
Can justly call his task accomplished. 
Let the Sire his sky to-morrow 
Cloud with gloominess or light with sun : 
Ne'er will Pow*r Divine the deed once done 
Annul, or carry in reversal 
What the gliding hour has stranded. 

I no longer find any qnestions of 
metre remaining for a translator of 
the Odes of Horace ; and his metres 
are so numerous, as to arm one 
beforehand for a large mass of the 
Greek lyrics. Various suggestions 
have been made above of stanzas 
suitable to translate the tragic odes. 
Difficulties must remain where 
music and acting played a large 
part with the Greek, especially 
when there are several speakers and 
short utterances; or generally, when 
there is great excitement. This is 
often accompanied by the * dochmiac ' 
metre, for which we have no cor- 
relative. Boeckh, I understand, 
says that the music was in 5/4 
time, as is a certain modem piece 
called The Oypsey Glee^ which ladies 
generally despair of executing in 
true time. But when the utter- 
ances in dochmees are of moderate 
length, and come from one mouth, 
I have thought that a sort of ' God 



save the King ' metre is not i 
priate. Thus when the cl 
the Seven against Thebes is 
at the enemy, and bursts c 
every speech of the king, 
cited prayers may be cast i 
form : 

{Sir, I.) Gods, with victory 
Crown ye our champion 

Since for the State 
Kighteous he combateth. 
Yet dire my terror is, 
Fate of my dearest ones 

Bloodstain'd to see. 

(Aniisfr. i.) Perish, who 'gainst t 
Vaunteth unseemly words 

Him may high Jove 

By lightning-bolt arrest. 

Ere he mv home invade. 

Rifling with haughty lanc€ 

Our maiden-seats !^ 

What we never can attain 
lish is, a series of words wi 
syllables, short vowels, ai 
few consonants, so that the 
runs over them with double 1 
For this the Greeks ha 
power, and to the excitec 
ances it gives an inimitab] 
liarity. But this, and other 
the English reader will n< 
for he cannot guess at the 
ence. It is sufficient to s 
for the translation of by 
greater part of that foreign 
which has a merit deser 
careful translation, with cl 
herenoe to its expressions ai 
we have ample resources 
rhymed lines, which are 
harmony with current ai 
ternary metre, and introdi 
thing new in principle. '^ 
denying that rhyme may 
tionally be desirable, the 
writer maintains that or 
the translator of high poei 
have to purchase rhyme at 
high a sacrifice of faithfnln 
that when attained, it wi] 
little worth. It will genei 
found to have lowered the < 
of his rhythm, and added 
to the dignity and energy 
able without rhyme. 



1875] 



97 



THE ANCIENT IRISH. 



IT is now about fourteen years 
since Eugene O' Curry published 
his Lectures on the Manuscript 
Materials of Ancient Irish History,^ 
The critical powers of the writer 
were very slight, and his philological 
and archseological knowledge did 
not extend beyond the field of Irish 
literature and antiquities. Any 
shortcomings in these respects, how- 
ever, were abundantly compensated 
for by his deep and familiar ac- 
quaintance with the ancient native 
language, and its written remains — 
the only key to the secrets of Ireland's 
past — and by an enthusiastic and la- 
borious devotion to his favourite study 
of which his readers reap the benefit 
in the copious citations of valuable 
old Irish texts, accompanied with 
translations, which give the book its 
chief value. The title of the Lectures 
sufficiently describes their character 
and aim. They were a description 
of the surviving old Irish manuscripts 
by. one who had had them constantly 
uLder his hand, and knew their con- 
tents well. It was known that the 
later years of the author had been 
devoted to a work of more ambitious 
scope, to treat of ancient Irish life 
generally, and in this second book 
much light was expected to be thrown 
on the subject from the sources used 
in the former one — the native MS. 
literature. 

These expectations have not been 
altogether disappointed in the 
volumes recently published ; * yet, ' 
whether from the Ruling health of 
the writer, who received the sum- 
mons of death in the midst of his 
work, from possible haste in the 
preparation of the Lectures, which 
were delivered to his class in the 
Dublin Catholic University, or from 
whatever other cause, the later 



work is not equal to its predecessor 
in interest or in the new matter 
exhibited, and has less, on very 
many points, to tell us of the ancient 
Irish than we could desire. Of Dr. 
Sullivan's Introduction we must take 
leave to say at the outset that, while 
it no doubt contains much that is 
interesting and [suggestive, its 
author'simperfect acquaintance with 
the Irish tongue has betrayed him 
into serious errors, and that it 
occupies disproportionate space. 
The whole book must nevertheless be 
regarded as somewhat important, if 
only as showing all that the native 
scholars have to say about the origin 
and the early characteristics of their 
race ; and while it deserves attention 
on this account, its publication 
again brings forward questions 
which have i the past given birth 
to much learned discussion, and no 
little wild conjecture. Who were 
the ancient Irish as to race ; and 
what was really the condition of 
things in their coimtry before North- 
man or Norman set foot in it ? Are 
the Irish accounts of far-reaching 
lines of powerful kings to be taken 
as history ? Were the Fomore 
really from Africa, and the builders 
of the Bound Towers an oriental 
race who worshipped fire? Was 
Ireland in possession of an excep- 
tional civilization at a remote date, 
or, if the theories of General 
Vallancey and Sir William Betham 
were wrong, was the learned and 
urbane Pinkerton, on the other hand, 
quite right when he somewhere 
described the former Wild Irish as 
the veriest savages on the globe? 

Of the two questions indicated 
above, as to the origin of the ancient 
Irish, and the state of the arts of life 
among ihem as compared with the 



* On the Manners and Customs qfihe Ancient Irish, A series of Lectures by Engene 
O'Cniry, M.B.I.A., edited, with an Introduction, Appendixes, &c., by W. K. Sullivan, 
P h.D., Secretary of the Boyal Irish Academy, &c. Three Volumes. London, 1873. 

H 2 



98 



The Ancient Irish, 



other nations of Europe, it is not 
proposed to do more in the following 
pages than consider the former — ^Who 
were the Gaidel, as to race ? 

Whencesoever they came, a 
tall, fair-haired race seem in re- 
mote times to have got the upper 
hand in Ireland, and to have 
possessed themselves of the greater 
part of the country, the west and 
south-wesfc becoming the home or the 
retreat of a shorter, dark people — 
the remains, as some have con- 
jectured, of the pre- Aryan stock of 
Europe. The same characteristics 
were observed in the Irish popula- 
tion by the English settlers in the 
country, and after intermixture of 
races, emigration, and other disturb- 
ing agencies, they continue to a 
large extent yet. 

Dubaltach MacFirbisigh,- a learned 
Irish genealogist, whose work was 
compiled in 1650, is no doubt re- 
cording an ancient tradition when 
he tells us that everyone who is 
white-skinned, brown -haired, boun- 
tiful in the bestowal on the bards of 
jewels, wealth, and rings, not afraid 
of battle or combat, is of the Clanna- 
Miled (the Irish native nobility, the 
* Milesians ' of some writers) ; fivery 
one who is fair-haired, big, vindic- 
tive, skilled in music, druidry, and 
magic, all these are of the Tuatha 
D6 Danann ; while the black-haired, 
loud-tongued, mischievous, tale- 
loving, inhospitable churls, the dis- 
turbers of assemblies, who love not 
music and entertainment, these are 
of the Feru-Bolg, the Feru-Dom- 
nann, and the other conquered 
peoples. It will be seen that in 
this bardic enumeration of Irish 
races, MacFirbisigh places between 



the big-bodied and fail 
people and the black-haired 
sort of inteiTnediate type. 

References to Ireland in c 
writers are, as is well kno^ 
and meagre. In Ptolemy ^ 
a bare list of names of tril 
towns, and of some leading 
features of the country. H 
there we find a name idei 
with a modem one. Oho 
example, is probably the 
Avoca, and the tribe name 
Erdini perhaps survives in 
Loch Eirne. * So the Boyn 
Boind, was known as the B( 
nearly two thousand year 
The people of the neigh: 
continent had little more tha 
of a remote island, where the 
of Rome seem never to ha^ 
known as luverna, lerne, H 
variants of the native E 
rather of an older form — 1 
signifying the Western lar 
inhabitants called themselv 
very early period, as their 
dants do to-day in their own 
Gaidel ; but it is not by th 
that they first figure prominj 
the page of reliable history 
in the year 360, and in ye; 
mediately following, that th 
marauders from Ireland, 
some dominant tribe or tribe 
are first heard of, ravaging \ 
tion of Northern Britain s 
the Forth and Clyde, in the c< 
of tattooed Picti and ferocit 
tacots. A generation later C! 
in well-known lines, mak 
tannia tell how * Stilicho c 
her aid when the Scot mc 
lerne, and his hostile galleys 
ocean into foam.*^ Porphyry 



' The name of this famous stream is an illustration of the antiquity of that 
paganism of which we shall presently have to say something; for B6{f)ind, Bi 
Buvinda, Bdind, means ' White Cow (river),' and is a name of mythological or 
Inis-na-Bo-Finney Loch-naBd-Finne, island and lake of the White Cow. Th 
question, like the Find-bennach (WTiite-horned) of the Tain-B6-Cuailnge, ai 
Argos, is probably the horned moon. 

• Me iuvit Stilicho, totam cum Scotus lernen 
Movit, et infpsto spumavit remige Tethys : 
Ulius effectum curis ne tela timerem 
Scotica, ne Pictos tremerem, neu littore tuto 
Prospicerem dubiis venturnm Saxon.i ventis. 



»*^**w*^ 



1875] 



The Ancient Irish, 



quoted by Saint Jerome, groups the 

Irisli clans as * ScoticaB gentes.' 

While it is thus possible to form an 

idea who the Scoti were, the people 

with whom they are found associated 

in the pages of Ammianus, the 

Picts, who have been the subject of reason to believe they did — share 



which will suggest to man; 
Indian analogy.* The names Scuit 
and Cruitnecha obviously imply 
no necessary difference in race. The 
Herdsmen and the Corn-growers 
might — as in Eriu at least there is 



such long and acrid controversy, 
are in some respects an obscure 
race enough yet. They seem to 
have been the old Celtic inhabitants 
of Northern Britain, called Cale- 
donians by the earlier Eoman 
writers. It is certain that in the 
fourth century they punctured the 
figures of animals on their bodies ; 
but their name, though thought by 
the Homans to designate the Painted 
People, is, probably, as little Roman 
in its origin as that of their barbarous 
allies, the Scoti, or that of the 
Pictones or Pictavi in the modern 
Poitou. 

In ancient Irish writings, the 
name given to the Picts, whether 
those of the lower portion of Alba 
or Northern Britain,apparently their 
proper home, or certain clans in 
Eriu itself which traced their 
descent from the same nation, is a 
suggestive one, Cruitneacha, which 
can be nothing else but the Wheat 
or Corn People. The Scuit, the 
Scots, on the other hand, were pro- 
bably, as has been suggested, the 
Wandering People, the fribes who 
moved about from place to place 
according as their cattle needed 



the same blood and speak the same 
Celtic tongue. 

Whatever the characteristics in 
which the name Scuit had its origin, 
the tribes of the Gaidel who bore it 
had, at an early date, gained the 
mastery in Eriu, and their restless 
energy sought a fresh channel in 
marauding expeditions to the neigh- 
bouring shores. We must pro- 
bably reject, or at least regard as 
at present unsupported by sufficient 
evidence, the Irish accounts of the 
expeditions of Ninepledged Niall 
and Dathi to the Loire and Alps, 
which perhaps were the later 
tales of romancing bards, told 
to flatter the pride of the Ui 
Neill. The assaults, however, of 
Irish Scoti, in conjunction with the 
Picts, on the Roman province in 
Northern Britain in the fourth cen- 
tury belong to authentic history, as 
well as their permanent settlement 
in Airther- Gaidel (Argyll) in 506, 
and their subsequent rise, after 
vicissitudes of conquest and defeat, 
to full sway in their new country, 
and its gradual conversion from 
Pict-land into Scot-land. The 
triumphs, too, of the Gwyddyl on 



fresh pastures.* The gradation of the western shores of Wales are re- 



legal rank in ancient Ireland de- 
pended on the number of cows 
owned ; and the regular term for a 
man so qualified was (bo-) aireach^ 
a cow-keeper, cow-tender, a title 



corded in the Welsh triads, and per- 
haps still more reliably in such local 
names as Cormac's 'Glasimpere nan 
Gdidel' (Glastonbury of the Irish) 
* on the brink of the Ictian Sea.' 



Dr. Sullivan (p. xliv.) renders * Illius effectum curia/ &c., ' Supported by his spears, 
she should not fear Scotic enterprises.' 

* Cruiineacht (Gaidelic of Ireland and the Highlands), Manx cumaght^ * wheat. 
Scot. The Indians of Potter Valley, California, call themselves the * Wild Oat People, 

* that cereal having been, next to acorns, their great staple in former times.' Cf. the 
Irish words scuite, *a wanderer;' scuiice, * moveables;' tcaiOt scatt&n (a living word) 

* a flock.' 

* Aire^ aireachas, are living Irish words, meaning * heed,' * care.' Aireachas is also. 

* feeding (tending) of cattle, the office of a herdsman, pastoral life* (O'Reilly). Dr. 
Sullivan, who seeks the root of airech in Sanskrit, Gothic, and a long array of other 
languages, misses its simple meaning (which also occurs in O'Reilly), ' a herdsman.' 



) 



100 



The Ancient Irish, 



[Jdy 



There have been many theories 
as to the quarter from which the 
Gaidel found their way iiito Erin, 
ancient Scythia, various parts of 
the European continent, and even 
some Semitic land, having all found 
their advocates. Native traditions 
have much to say on the subject, 
giving a circumstantial account of 
the sucessive conquests or occupa- 
tions (gabala) of the island by 
Partolan and his people, by the 
Clanna-Neimid, by the Feru-Bolg 
and Tuatha D6 Danann, and last of 
all by the conquering Scuit, the 
men led, as the tale went, from 
Spain by Golam ^liled, from whom 
the Irish nobility, Ui Neill, Ui 
Conchobair (0' Conors), Ui Mo- 
elsechnaill, and the rest all deduced 
their descent. Of the antiquity of 
these traditions there can be no 
question. They were committed to 
writing at an early date, exist yet 
in MSS. transcribed in the twelfth 
century, and are by no means for- 
gotten by the Irish-speaking natives 
to-day. They must have hiid some 
germ of rational origin. Of their 
value, however, in a strictly historical 
sense, anyone may judge for him- 
self when he knows what the 
evidence is that the races named in 
them had any historical existence 
at all. The sum of this evidence 
may be said to be that certain Irish 
families in later times traced their 
descent in elaborate genealogies from 
the Children of Miled and the Feru- 
Bolg; that the latter race bear a 
name somewhat resembling that of 
an historic people with whom they 
have been assumed to have been 
identical, the Belgae ; and that the 
names of many localities in Eriu 
were derived from personages be- 
longing to one or other of the 
legendary colonies. Thus Tamlachta- 
MutnUre-PaHoldin, *the burying- 
ground of the people of Partolan,' 
was the old name of the present 
Tallaght, in the county of Dublin. 

Happily we are not left to the dim 
and deceiving light of these legends 



as our only guide through the ob- 
scure maze of Irish ethnology. 
The dialect of the ancient 0^^ 
language spoken by the Gaidel, 
studied in its relation to other 
Celtic dialects and to the other 
languages of Europe, the pi^an 
deities they worshipped, the wes^pons 
of war they employed, their habits 
of life and physical characteristicB, 
all Ornish valuable a^d in nu^ 
cases conclusive evidence as to the 
real place of the nation among te 
peoples of old Europe. 

Of these several sources of in- 
formation, the first, the language, 
though at once the most valiiable 
and the one more particnlarlj 
available to Irishmen themselvee, 
has not, till of late years, met at 
their hands the attention it deserves. 
A few native scholars, indeed, like 
O'Reilly and Halliday at the be- 
gining of this century, and O'Dono- 
van and O' Curry at a more recent 
period, did study their langoage 
patiently, and the two latter, by a 
series of laborious works, : both 
threw great light on i^ past of 
Ireland and largely lesseiied ike 
labour of others following thiem. Bnt 
Celtic, and especially Insh, stadies 
were long abiost. entirely in the 
hands of a class of writers who, 
while they had no patience to stady 
the language methodically, were 
attracted by the obscure subject of 
ancient Celtic mythology and re- 
ligion — which doubtless has - a 
fascination for many minds,^-and 
who used the merest smattering of 
the native tongue to prop up by 
crazy etymologies speculations as 
crazy on the worship of Belus or of 
Fire in Ireland by the Druids. 

Thus Vallancey proved to his own 
satisfaction that the Punic passage 
in Plautus was to be read as a sort 
of old Irish ; others found in 
Irish or Welsh the language spoken 
by Adam and Eve in the terrestrial 
Paradise; an Irish hymn of ap- 
parently the ninth or tenth century, 
beginning * Bless, O Christ, . my 



1875] 



The Ancient Irish, 



101 



speech,'* was translsEted by VaJ- 
lancey «s an address to the 
Sun ; and Sir William Betham 
saw in the ancient Ohristian belfry 
or beaoon-towers scattered over 
the country — called -by the people 
still ohigteaoha (bell-honses) — the 
symbols of a phallic qoltas. 

A recent writer thus appropriately 
dharacteiizes the former school of 

• • • • 

Celti6 philology : ' Numerous have 
been the- works published on this 
question (namely, in what relation- 
ship the Irish, Welshj and' old Grau- 
lish people 'stand to each other and 
to the! other nations) during the two 
last centuries.* And ' yet we must 
say, with re^^t, that as to their 
Value^ it is almost none. In no de- 
partment can more scientific errors 
be pointed outic The Continental 
scholars never mastered the Celtic 
languages ; the native scholars 
lacked, almost without exception, 
common sense, and often common 
honesty. No Itish scholar was oon- 
sqientious enough to learn Welsh, no 
Welsh scholar^ learn Irish ; but all 
were ready enough to compare their 
languages with Phenician, Persian, 
fitruscan, Egyptian, of which, again, 
tbey knew, ii reality, next to 
Yiothing.*7 

* The Celtic problem' was, how- 
ever, to find a scholar — ^and not a 
scholar of the Celtic race, — who 
was able to d^l with it, and who 
•was not a&aidf of the necessary work. 
It is now pretty generally known 
how Zeuss, in the course of his 
historical researches, lighted, in 
Continental libraries, on certain 
ancient Latin MSS., in which the 
Irish nionks of the seventh, eighth. 
Or ninth century, who transcribed 
or used them, had inserted, on the 
margins or between the lines, the 
explamaUon m Irish of the Latin 
words; and how, from these old 
and now fieimous Glosses, the most 



ancient specimens of Gaidelic ""in 
existence, from the scanty fragments 
of the old Gallic which have come 
down to us, chiefly in the form of 
proper names, in classical authors, 
from the forms in old Welsh and 
Cornish MSS., and from the remains 
of the Celtic as now surviving in 
modem books illustrating the ver- 
nacular speech of Ireland, Wales, 
Brittany, the Scottish Highlands, 
and Mann, he succeeded, after 
thirteen years' unremitting labour, 
in reconstructing its grammar and 
conclusively de ter min ing its relation- 
ship to other European languages. 
The result has been to show that 
the Celts spoke a language belong- 
ing to the Indo-European fitmily, 
closely related to Greek, Latin, and 
to the Sclavonic tongues, perhaps 
more closely still to the Teutonic 
dialects ; and that this language 
separates into two dialects, also 
closely related, the one compre- 
hending the Gaidelic of Ireland, 
Scotland, and Mann, the other the 
Cymric, Cornish, and Breton, pro- 
bably also the old Grallic. 

If the philological evidence thus 
points to the same conclusion 
suggested by such Irish tribe- names 
as Damnii, Brigantes, Menapii, 
Iberm', Concani, namely, that the 
people were a mixed race, in part 
at least of the same stock as the 
tribes bearing these names in Britain, 
Belgium, Germany and Spain, that 
conclusion is confirmed by an in- 
spection of Irish paganism. Much 
has been written on this interesting 
subject, but those who have at- 
tempted to obtain clear and satis- 
factory information upon it are best 
aware how little is to be gleaned 
from even the best existing authori- 
ties upon ancient Irish literature 
and antiquities. Passing by such 
writers as Vallanoey, who pointed 
to the Irish name of May-Day, 



^ • It occurs in the prologue to the FSlire- Oengtcsa, the Calendar of Oengus C^ile D6. 
a monk of Tallaght, near Dublin. 

'Wright Grammar of the Modem Irish. 2ud edit. London, i860. Preface. 



102 



Ths A ndent Irish. 



[JiJy 



• Ld-Bealtaim, which he translated 
* day of Bel's Fire/ as a convincing 
proof of the worship of Belus in 
Ireland, we have the more sober 
opinions of Dr. Todd, who considered 
that the gods of the Gaidel were 
only topical; the enhemerism of 
0* Donovan and Curry, who believed 
the Irish Divine-Folk, the Tuatha 
D6 Danann, to have been a real 
people, deified by an ignorant 
inferior race on account of their 
skill in strange arts and learning ; 
some brief but judicious notes on 
certain Irish deities by Dr. Whitley 
Stokes ; and among many scattered 
contributions to the question, of 
varying interest and value, a learned 
and suggestive, if somewhat specu- 
lative and fanciful paper by the late 
Mr. Crowe. In The Manners and 
Customs of the Ancient Irish Curry 
can tell us next to nothing of that 
pagan religion which influenced 
both; and his editor, though his 
Introduction and Appendix are of a 
bulk* equal to that of the text itself, 
makes no attempt to remedy the 
omission. Dr. Sullivan has, indeed, 
a reference or two, as where he 
informs us that *the Greek Zeus, 
Roman Jupiter, or Jus- Pater,* *and 
even the degraded Deans or Deuce 
of modem Irish superstition, all 
merge into the Sanskrit Dyaus- 
Pater,' or that the Tuatha De 
Danann had their name, not from 
the goddess Anu, gen. Anann, only, 
of whom we know something, but 
from * the deities De and Anand * — 
the former a new arrival in the 
Irish pantheon. 

It is, nevertheless, not so diflBcult 
a task — ^though it has never yet 
been done — to determine the broad 
outlines of the old Irish pagan 
rehgion from the relics of it which 
have come down to us in the ancient 
literature of the country. What 
the real primary character of that 
paganism was is shown by the 
numerous references in the most 



ancient MSS. to the Elemtots, as 
the most sacred and awful things 
which men could swear by. In the 
cases where mention is niade of the 
oaths of certain celebrated kings or 
heroes the sanction may sometimes 
invoke more, sometimes fewer of 
the great mysterious forces of 
nature, but most frequently it 
includes Qrian ecus Hsca^ Nam ocus 
Talam, La ocus Adai^, Muir ocus 
Tir, ' By Sun and Moon, by Heaven 
and Eaj*th, Day and Night, Land 
and Sea.' Thus Loegaire, son of 
Ninepledged Niall, was made by his 
victorious enemies the Leinstermen 
to swear by the Elements that he 
would never again demand of them 
the odious cow- tribute, that BorumO" 
Laigen which in after days gave 
his surname to King Brian. 

He afterwards forgot his oath, and 
exacted the tribute, and the chro- 
nicler relating the evil end of the 
king, tells us that ' it was the son 
and the wind that wrought his 
death, because he had violated their 
sanctity.' So King Ugaine M($r, 
from whom ' are all that live of the 
seed of Eremon,' all, that is, of the 
royal lines of the northern and 
southern Hi Neill, and Conchobair 
of Connaught, made his lords swear 
by the elements visible and invisible 
that, so long as the sea flowed 
round Eriu, they and their children 
would keep its sceptre in his line ; 
and, to take an example from a later 
fiction, the readers of this magazine 
may remember the adjuration of Mac 
Conglinne 'by the seven universal 
things, the sun and moon, dew and 
sea, heaven and earth and wind.' 

This notion of the sanctity of the 
great primary forces of nature, the 
influence of which on their daily 
life was constantly impressing itself 
on the mind of primitive men, was 
of course not confined to the Oaidel 
or to the Celt. Some of the 
elemental powers appear, together 
with Greek and African gods, in the 



Eight hundred pages. 



1875] 



The Ancient Irish, 



103 



remarkable ti*eaty oath between 
King Pbilip of Macedon and the 
generals of the Carthaginian and 
Libyan army, to which Mr. Tylor 
has called attention. So ^neas 
and Latinus, in the Roman epic, 
swear by the Sun, the Earth, 
the Sea, the Stars, by Jnppiter, 
and Mayors, and doable-fronted 
Janus, by Latona*s twins, by the 
Rivers and the Springs, the gods of 
the waters, of the skies, and of hell, 
that their contract shall never be 
broken, even as the brass-cased 
sceptre of Latinns shall never again 
pat on the blossoms of its parent 
tree.® The same ideas were not ex- 
tinct in mediasval times, for the 
initiated of a Westphalian Fehm- 
Oericht swore on the Holy Marriag6 
to conceal the secrets of the court 
'from wife or child, father or mother, 
Bister or brother, from Fire and 
Wind, from all things which are 
warmed by the Sun or moistened by 
the Rain/^o 

As the Greek or Roman, side by 
Bide with the sacred elements, 
Heskven, San, and Moon, invoked 
deities^ for example, Jupiter, Phoebus 
Apollo, Diana, who were nothing but 
the same elements personified, so 
beside the DiiZa, the divine elements 
of ancient Irish writings, those 
writings abound in references to 
beings who were originally the 
personified forces of nature, like the 
^ods of Greece, Rome, and ancient 
Cl^ermany. What is related of these 
beings is often trivial, self-con- 
tradictory, and incredible on the 
hypothesis that they are historical 
personages, while it is expUcable 
and rational on the supposition that 



they are Celtic gods. Instead of 
inference from evidence we have, 
of course, in some cases — Brigit, 
Diancecht, and Neit, for example — 
the explicit statement of old Irish 
authorities. 

It is not always, however, in their 
divine character that the Irish gods 
appear in the most ancient native 
traditions, for those traditions, 
though derived from very old pagan 
sources, have come down to us in 
the writings of Irish monks, or other 
Christian seanchuidhes, and so have 
gradually lost much of their original 
pagan character. In the Irish so- 
called historical tales, as we now 
have them, the Dagda, Goibnenn 
the smith and Diancecht the Leech, 
unhke Odin, Hephaistos and Askle- 
pios, are rather mighty mortals than 
immortal gods. O'Donovan, indeed, 
in common with most writers on 
early Irish history, believed the first 
named of the above personages to 
be an historical king; just as the 
Tuatha De Danann — the accounts of 
whom show that they were really 
the dwellers in the Irish Olympus, 
and who are actually called in the 
Irish version of Nennius Plebes De^ 
orum, a translation of Tuatha D6e-^ 
are spoken of by 0*Donovan, Curry, 
and Curry's editor. Dr. Sullivan, 
as an historical people. And if the 
originally divine character of these 
beings is thus often forgotten or ob- 
scured, much more had the notion 
perished, at the date of the earliest 
native references to them, of the pri- 
mary nature of the Irish deities. The 
Greeks and Romans knew that 
Hephaistos, Vulcan, or Vesta were 
all the personified Fire : — 



' The idea of the passage was borrowed from Homer. But Virgil's majestic ioToca- 
don amplifies and excels the Greek original : 

Esto nunc Sol testis et hiec mihi Terra yocanti 
,Quam propter tantos potui perferre labores, 
Et Pater omnipotens, et tn Satumia coninnx, 
lam melior, iam diva, precor, tuque inclute Mayors : 
Fontisque, Eluviosque voco, quseque Athens alti 
Beligio, et quae caeruleo sunt numina Fonto.— iBneid, b. zii. 
*f qf. lago'soath: 

Witness yon eyer-buming lights above, 

Ton elements that dip us round about. — Othello, Aet 3. 



104 



The Ancient Irish. 



Nee ttt aliud Vestam quam viram in'- 
tellige Fhkimnam ; 

And it cotdd hardly be forgCrtten 
who Thor tvas so lonjy as men re- 
inembferfd that his namld wAs the 
same word with Thonor ot Thunder. 
There is, however, nothing to show 
that the Irish in historical times 
understood Gk>ibnenn Goba and 
Brigit to be, as they undoubtedly 
were, fire-divinities, or that the 
worship{)ers of Crom or Ahii knew 
their gods to be respectively, as they 
seem to have been, Thundei* and the 
Moon. ' 

Notwithstanding some obscurity 
which has thus grown round the 
subject, we must attempt to embody 
some of the i*esult9 of rather lohg 
Attention to Irish-* mythology in 
pdinting out, in a very compendious 
"Way, who were the chief divinities 
bf the Graidel, and what thelto deities 
really represented. 

■ First in the company must be 
placed that Crom whom, according 
to Jocelyn, the men of Ireland in 
St. Patrick's tinie Worshipped d,s the 
* caput omnium deorum/ whose 
idol of gold stood in Mag Slecht 
<H;he Plain of Bbwing), in Cftvan, 
with twelve subordinate idols^ of 
-t/tCine around him-, and whose name 
•is even now appKed in Christian 
li^land to Domnach Gruim Dutbh, 
*Cromduff* or Black Ctom's 
Sunday, in some years the last 
Sunday in July, in 'Others the 
fi^st in August. No#, ;fust as the 
ibame of the German god Thor, and 
tbs that of Taranis, thS deity of the 
Gaulsj the kinsmen of the Irish, 
^tnean nothing btt Thu!nd^, it seems 
likely enough thit'-a'k^y to the 
primary character of tli6 great old 



Irish deity Crom is preseiH 
word cruim (monosylli) 
O'Reilly for ' Thunder. '»»' 
to support i^is view that i 
bouring nations, and nota 
Celtic peoples more closel 
to the Irish, all made the 
one of their leading < 
Taranis in Graul, Taran in 
Thor in Germany, Perkij 
the Slavonic tribes. Mop 
shall presently see that the 
god seems to reappear j 
later in Irish mytholog 
another name. 

A leading place amongt' 
De Danann is held by 
vinities who probably we 
related to each other, N6i 
Dagda. Concerning tin 
little has come down to i 
what is conveyed in the si 
in the old glossary attri 
Corraac, * Nlit, the god 
among the pagan Gaidel ; 
mon (was) his wife.* *^ Oft 
god, the Dagda, we kn< 
His pre-eminence among i 
company is expressed in 
name, Eochaid Ollathair, 
father. Now we should 1 
general relationship in tl 
ism of all the branches of 1 
family; and in examining 
ture of the Irish prinoipa 
may expect light to be tl 
the question by comparis* 
traditions concerning h 
what is known of the cl 
of the Gauls. • Of these h 
writesi * Deum maxime M 
colunt;* giving the name 
man to a Celtic divini 
same Roman deity Merci 
on several accounts ident 



" It should make its genitive crom^a, like dridm, droTnaf full, fola ; but t 
writer is unable to produce an example. 

" Taran, called ♦ Etirun idol fUc^Bretan* (Etirun idol of the Britons) ii 
legendary topography, the^ i>infiMM<;A«M. 

" If N6it, N^id, Nemid was originally a heaven-god, whose name is de 
nem, heaven, his character as a battle-deity finds a parallel in the case of TV 
given a name to the third day of our week ; for the word tiWf Goth. tiicSy 0. 
zio, is believed with good reason to be akin to the root seen in Zeus, Di 
div-us, and to mean the bright, shining sky. 



18?5] 



The Ancient Irish, 



105 



the German supreme god Odin. 
Both were psychopomps — they led 
the goals of the dead to the other 
world — and both were the bestowers 
of wealth. The primary character 
of the two gods was probably the 
same, for, so far at least as he is 
identifiable with Hermes, the wing- 
footed Mercury, messenger of the 
gods, can be nothing but a wind- 
god ; while Odin is the god of the 
skj and the stormy blast. It is 
probable, then, that the GauHsh 
Mercury, their chief deity, had some 
of the characteristics of Odin ; and 
we find that the Irish correspond- 
ing deity is, as might be expected, 
a similar being, uniting in himself 
-—like Perkun, and, indeed, Olym- 
pian Jove — ^the characters of both 
Odin and Thor. 

For not only is the Dagda the 
Allfather, hke Odin, but as Odin 
is a furious rider, so the Irish 
divinity is Eochaid, a name which 
signifies a horseman ;^^ and is pro- 
bably, also, that mythic king 
*■ Eochaid the Huntsman,' whom the 
Donegal Annalists (called ' The 
Four Masters ') mention at the Age 
of the World 4357. As Odin, too, 
is wrapped in a grey mantle of 
cloudj and rides a grey horse, it is 
said of the Dagda in the ancient 
poem on Aileach, ' greyer than the 
grey mist was the aspect of the 
man.' He has a wondrous caul- 
dron (Coire-in-Dagdai), like. that 
which Thor took from the giant 
Hymir, and in which some recog- 
nise the vaulted sky ; a famous 
anvil (Inneoin-in-Dagdai), and a 
handstone(Dirna-ih-Dagdai), which 
returned of itself to the place from 
whence it was thrown, just like 
Thor's thunderbolt hammer, and 
anvil. The not less famous Lorg- 



in-Dagdai (the missile Club of the 
Dagda P), often mentioned in old 
Irish writings, is probably nothing 
but the same wonderful weapon. 
His name Dagda seems to mean 
the Good One, and is, perhaps, 
euphuistic, like that of the Good 
People. As the giver of wealth, 
and the conductor of the souls of 
the dead to the nether world. All- 
father Odin, or Mercurius, or AU- 
£a*ther Eochaid, the Dagda, is iden- 
tifiable with Father Dis; and it was 
from this latter, the god of the dark 
and gloomy shades, that the Gtiuls 
in Caasar's time all claimed to have 
descended. In other words, the 
people of the extreme west, the 
land of the setting sun, deified that 
darkness from which they seemed to 
have sprung. Now the Gaidel of 
Eriu were still further west than 
their Gallic kinsmen, and it seems 
highly probable both that their 
cultus of the Dagda (in so far as 
that divinity is identifiable with the 
Gallic Mercury), and even their 
very name (Gaidel), bear testimony 
to the existence of a belief in an- 
cient Ireland analogous to that en- 
tertained respecting their own origin 
by the Gauls. We find tribes in 
Ireland called the . Corca-Oidce (Ht. 
'Children, people, of Night'), and 
Corca-Duibhe (* Children of Dark- 
ness '), the latter in the extreme 
west of Kerry, and the first element 
of the unexplained name Oaidel 
may possibly be adaig, or agaid 
(such inversions not being uncom- 
mon), * night.' K so, the name 
would mean the same as Corca 
Oidce, the Night-Folk, the people 
of the dark west.*^ 

From the Dagda we naturally 
pass to his bride Anu, the M6r- 
rigain, a title that in the form in 



** Earlier cchid, which occurs as a gloss for equitiua. Ir. ech = equus, "We may see 
the name of the Dagda in that of the Eochu, from whom, according to an old legend, 
Loch nEchach (Loch Neagh) has its name. 

" Cf. also the western tribe Hi Dorchaide, i.e. * Descendants of Darkness.' That they 
themselves had a family tradition of this origin is shown by the occurrence of the nam e 
Mca-na-hOidche (* Son of the Night*) among them ; and by the name of their territory, 
* Tuath-tm-hachaidh* (recte T, na-haidchi^ ' i)iQ Night-Country.' 



106 



The Ancient Irish, 



which we have it means the Great 
Queen, and recalls the Magna Mater 
of classic mythology. Of Ann, or 
Aine, from whom a well-known 
mountain near Killamey had its 
name, Da Cic Anainnc, Duae 
Mammae Anae, Mr. Crowo wrote, 
* She is most infallibly the Bona 
Dea.* Without undertaking to 
interpret this dictum, and fix who 
the Bona Dea herself was, one may 
point out that one sense of Aine in 
Irish dictionaries is * the moon ; ' 
that the white-homed bull was 
sacred to the goddess ; that she 
could be transformed, like To, into 
a heifer ; and that if lunatics — the 
moon- struck — seated themselves on 
Ann's Stone, at Dnnany (Diin- 
Aine) they became incurable, while 
rabid dogs were impelled by some 
irresistible impulse to come and 
howl round the same wonderful 
spot. These facts point to the 
lunar character of the deity. We 
have seen that her consort or lover, 
Eochaid OUathair, or the Dagda, is 
a sort of Celtic Odin, and the loves 
of the Morrigain and the Dagda 
correspond to those of Odin and 
Freyga, to the tale|of Pan and Luna, 
and to other myths referable to the 
apparent chase jof the wind after 
the moon.*^ According to one 
tradition, B6ind, whose grave was 
shown beside the black and silent 
waters of Boyne, to which she gave 
a name, was also wife to the Dagda. 
In her the moon-goddess is more 
easily recognisable ; for Boind, 
B(5find means the White Cow of 
heaven, while Nechtan (her sponse 
according to other accounts) is 
probably no less than the ancient 
Night (Skr. nakta, Gr. iwi^t-oc 



(ru£), Lat. noct-is (nox 
nocht). Dr. Whitley Stol 
nects the name Ann witl 
gloss anib, ' divitiis.' It is, 
possible that the word has 
that it is connected v 
Welsh Awen, and tb< 
AVENTIA of Con tine 
scriptions found on Celtic 
and even that it is recogn 
far away as Aven-io (A\4j 
South-eastern Gaul, on i 
of which appear both the 
moon and the Boar, the wc 
symbol of the Mother of t 
The prominence of the nio 
among the Irish Celts is 
to be explained by the not 
their Darkness-origin. Tl 
Folk worshipped above 
queen of the night. ^^ 

The Irish pantheon 
three fire-divinities, Goibiic 
or the Smith, Caaland Cer 
metal-worker) andBrigit, 
of poetry, of smith's work 
healing.* To these should 
be added a fourth. Lug 
(long-hand), whose name (I 
ing, flaming bright) is 
connected with that of tl 
dinavian Loki (as with t 
lish word low, flame), b 
original character is les! 
recognisable than that 
deities just named. Tli 
mention of Goibnenn the ^ 
pears to occur in the ]MS. 
Priscian, adjudged by Zeu 
eighth century, which was 
written in a monastery in tl 
of Leitrim, but which 1 
found its way to that of S 
in Switzerland. The MS. 
in glosses and marginal m( 



*• We must add tho rape of Ilelen ; for Paris and Hclene seem to be etyi 
identical with Pan and SelcnCy and to refer primarily to the wind and the w 
tradition that poets were struck 6/iiifZ for writing ill of Helen seems to point t 
moon-superstitioD. 

*' Ann would appear to have been far from forgott-en in Ireland in Cam 
' I cannot tell whether the vilder sort of the Irishry yeeld divine honoii 
Moone ; for when they see her first after the change, commonly they bow th 
say over the Lord's prayer, and so soon as they have made an end, they spea 
Moone with a loud voice in this manner: Leave us as whole and sound a 
found us.' Good in Camden, On the Maners of i fie Irishry. 



1875] 



The Ancient Irish, 



107 



in ancient Irish, the monk who 
wrote them telling us in one place 

* it has grown dark on me ' (is 
dorchae dom), in another ' The ink 
is bad and the parchment new 
(ever) since I neglect to say the 
grace,* ^® or praying that Patric and 
Brigit may prevent Mdelbrigte 
(the abbot perhaps) from being 
angry with the scribe for the bad 
writing. Side by side with these 
simple memoranda of the monastic 
copyist occur some charms which 
show that the monks of Inis-Matoc 
in the eighth century had not for- 
gotten the ancient power of the 
Tuatha Dee. Goibnenn Goba is in- 
voked for the cure of strangury; 
against some other ailment the 
charmer wishes ' the cure that 
Diancecht left with his people.* 
Cualand Cerd gave a name to a 
personage much more celebrated, 
that Celtic Achilles, the darling of 
Irish romancists, as of the women 
of Eriu, the 'comely, wounding, 
battle- victorious champion,* the for- 
tissimus ^ero55co<on*m,Cu-Chulaind 
(CuchuUin) himself. ^^ 

The fire-goddess Brigit, the 
daughter of the Dagda, is an im- 
portant figure in Irish mythology. 
In Christian times she became con- 
founded in the popular mind with 

* the little fair one fromCurrach Liffe, * 
Saint Brigit of Cell-dara ; and the 
nuns of Kildare, as we know from 
Giraldus, kept the sacred fire of 
Brigit for some centuries unex- 
tinguished in a stone cell near the 
Abbey church which is still pointed 
out as the Fire- House. In the name 
of the goddess Dr. Siegfried and Dr. 
Whitley Stokes saw the root found 
in the name of the tribe Brigant-es 



and of the goddess Brigantia ; and 
also, as they thought, in the Vedic 
brahman^ a prayer, and the Latin 
preces. To the present writer it 
seems more probable, though space 
will not allow him to produce the 
arguments for his view, that Brigit 
contains (as native etymologists 
have always held it does) a root 
found in the living Irish word 6reo, 
* flame, fire,* and means, like Guor- 
land, nothing but the fire divinity. 
That such, at all events, was the 
character of the goddess may be 
gathered from, among many refer- 
ences to her, that cited by Todd in 
the notes to the Irish version of 
Nennius, ' Brigit, woman of mighty 
roarings,* and * Brigit the greatest 
eater among them ''^^ (in the ancient 
satire on the Bards, * The Progress 
of the Burdensome Company*), 
phrases describing the roaring and 
devouring flame.^* 

It would be interesting to examine 
other Irish deities, such as the sea- 
god Manannan mac Lir, who has 
given a name to the Isle of 
Maim and to Loch Corrib,*^ 
Diancecht the Leech, the god of 
healing, — perhaps the APOLLO 
ANTENOCITICVS of British 
inscriptions; or Macha Mongruad 
(red-haired), who looks like a 
Celtic analogue of Rutila Aurora ; 
Ogma, who taught men the secret 
of the oghum-craobh, the writing 
of which many examples yet 
survive in Ireland and Wales ; 
and last but not least, that famous 
Find, son of Cumal, whose exploits 
were told in so many marvellous 
Irish legends that the veiy word 
Finn-sgeul (Finn-story) has become 
a sort of generic name for incredible 



" ni epur na haill [e]. Zeuss and Ebel leave the words untranslated. 

'• The name of this solar hero, for Huch there can be little doubt he is, means 
* Hound of Cualand.* 

*• Todd's * Irish Nennius,* p. 261, Brigid ban balcc nuallan; Trom-Ddim (jphper copy, 
British Museum^. 

« Cual, a coal of fire, fire ; allied to the English coal. Goibnenn (like GobaYia • Smith.' 

** In Irish Loch Orbsein, Orbsen being another name of Manannan. 



108 



The Ancient Irish. 



tales, and who was in late days 
to find a new lease of fame in 
distant Alba under the barbaric 
name * Fingal * — a sort of verbal 
centaur — invented by James Mac- 
pherson. The enquiry would be 
interesting also, how it has come 
about that there are at least two 
distinct cycles in Irish mythology, 
that of the Dagda and his three 
sons, of Neit, Anu, Macha, and 
Badb, and that, apparently of a 
later date, comprising Find mac 
Cumail, Diarmait,Cailte mac Eonain 
andOisin.*^ This, however, is not the 
place for such an investigation, and 
the reader will perhaps admit that 
enough has been said to show — 
which was the aim of the foregoing 
rapid glance at the paganism of tho 
Gmdel — that Irish heathenism was 
related to that of Greece, Rome and 
ancient Germany, was nothing but 
a worship of the personified elements 
of nature, and therefore points to 
the conclusion indicated also by an 
examination of the language, that 
the people were a branch of the 
family of nations now generally de- 
signated by the convenient name 
Aryan, or Indo-European. 

Looking to the affinities of 
language and religion, and also to 
the recorded physical characteristics 
of the people, we must apparently 
conclude — and many would be dis- 
posed to form this conclusion ir- 
respective of the philological and 
other evidence referred to above — 
that the Celts of Ireland, as those of 
Britain, found their way imto their 
western home from the shores of 
G^ul, of Germany, and possibly of 
Spain ; and that whatever may now 
be the differences between the Celt 
and the Teuton, those nations, 
which were originally neighbours 
as to geographical position, cannot 



have been divided in bio 
extent which has been < 
posed. 

Having said so much 
bution to the inquiry, Wh 
ancient Irish in point oi 
may be allowed to offe: 
elusion, a word as to who 
not — as to races which ca 
into the ancestry of the G 
Sullivan states, * The Iria 
or tenants of to-day are 
of the descendants of Fii 
other British and Belj 
Umorians, Fomorians, 1 
Danands, Milesians, Gt 
wegians, Anglo-Saxons, A 
mans, and English.' ^^ ^ 
known writer on prehisto 
ments, speaking of the gi 
bered tumuli on the Boyi 
' their inception is probal 
the great Mongoloid torn 
of Turan, viz., the Euskaj 
headed, swarthy, dark-hj 
bolgs, sometimes called 
Bullorum, with stone ii 
and weapons : they may 
improved upon, inhabitec 
tified by the succeeding 1 
of Celtce, the blue-eyed, f 
bullet-headed Tuatha-d 
the Plehes Deoruin, with 
spicuous metallurgic i 
manufacturers of tho gol 
and such like, and the c 
of the Ogham scribings.' 

After what has been sa 
paper of the presence oft! 
of myth in old Irish trad 
reader must decide fo 
whether one race at 
Tuatha De Danann, mn 
withdrawn from the abov 
of the ancestors of the 
being primarily a pure 
people, the race of the C( 
But it is not incompatible 



P Find (*the Bright, Fair') should perhaps rather be classed with Cu-C! 
mythical hero than a god. He is probably either (i) the Sun, or (2) the He 
2* Introduction, p. xxiv. 
" Captain Oliver, in the AthentBKm for the 27th March, 1875. 



1875] 



The Ancient Irish, 



109 



a conclusion that tribes in Ireland 
traced their descent from and 
claimed the name of this very Divine- 
Folk, just as in other countries his- 
torical kings claimed a pedigree 
from Herakles or Odin. 

With respect to the Fomore we 
will not on the present occasion do 
more than point out that in Irish 
traditions they appear as mighty 
giants — from whom the wonderful 
footway they made from the Innse- 
Gall( the Isles of the Stranger-Tribes, 
Hebrides) to Erin has its name even 
yet, Glochcm na-hFomore, * The 
Giants* Causeway ' ; that they bear 
Irish names found on examination 
to imply monstrosity or distortion 
of shape ; and are, like the Feru- 
Bolg, great builders, recalling those 
giants of classical story who piled 
Pelion on Ossa, and those from 
whom certain massive ancient works 
had the name Cyclopean. Such 
beings can hardly belong to any 
race but that of the angry elements ; 
and their contests, as at Mag- 
Tuired (in the far West of the 
island), with the Tuatha Dee look 
very like an old Celtic version of 
the War of the Titans with the 
Gods. 

It would be very hazardous, as it is 
often hard, to mark the line be- 
tween early history and myth, to 
maintain that there was no historical 
people in Ireland called Feru-Bolg 
or Feru-Bolc, and that the name 
had no connection with that of the 
Continental Belgse and the Volc», 
whose primitive name, according to 
the readings of some MSS., was 
Bolg89,^^ and whose wanderings oc- 
cupy so distinguished a place in the 
history of the Gauls. Such place- 
names as MagSenceneoil (* Plain of 
the Old Stock,' * old race'), so-called, 
as was said, from Feru-Bolg, point 
at least to differences of race. Yet 



many circumstances tend to show 
that the Feru-Bolg of the earliest 
Irish written traditions cannot be his- 
torical, any more than the Tuatha De 
Danann, or the Fomore : (i) If the 
traditions concerning them really 
referred to an historical people we 
should expect to find some indica- 
tions of dififerences of language. 
Now the names of the individuals 
mentioned in Irish legend as belong- 
ing to the Feru-Bolg (and a similar 
remark applies in the case of the 
Fomore, the Clanna-Neimid, and the 
other mythic races) indicate no such 
difference, being always plainly in 
the one language, the old Irish, 
which is found in the names of kings 
or heroes of the other races. (2) 
The circumstances of the fight of 
the Feru-Bolg with the Divine-Folk 
suggest a mythological interpreta- 
tion of that renowned contest : for 
it, also, took place in the extreme 
West of Ireland, and on Midsummer 
Day, as the great struggle between 
the Fomore and the Tuatha Dee was 
on the last day of summer, or Novem- 
ber Eve. The King of the Feru- 
Bolg, Eothaile — whom we shall find 
• reason to suspect to be a fire-giant 
% — fled from the field, when the day 
was lost, with a guard of a hundred 
brave men, * in search of water to 
allay his burning thirst ' ; and by 
the water of the sea he fell, on 
Tragh-Eothaile ' Eothaile's Strand,' 
in Sligo, * Trawohelly ' in the speech 
of the Gall. His great earn, still 
standing, onlhis strand was one of 
the * wonders of Ireland, * and, though 
not apparently elevated, the tvater 
could never cover it. (3) The Feru- 
Bolg are identified with the Clanna- 
Umoir ( * Umorians.' ) '^ Now the 
names of the leaders of these 
Children of Umdr, and the name of 
their progenitor, relate to Fire. 
Umor (* great-fire ') and Oengus, 



*• Long, in Csesarem, p. 279. 

*^ Curry, M. and C, vol, ii., p. 122, citing Mcc Liag, a poet of the end of the tenth 
century. 



110 



The Ancient Irish. 



both contain in all probability that 
old Celtic word oed or ud,^^ ' a spark 
of fire,* ' fire/ which occurs as the 
name of one of the sons of the Dagda 
and of many Irish kings, and which 
M. Arbois de Jubainville and others 
recognise in the famous Grallic 
tribe- name Aedui.*^ So the name of 

• 

Um6r*s son is -4dar=*Fire.' 

It would thus appear that the 
Irish mythological Feru-Bolg were 
beings of the Fire ; and one is in- 
clined to see in their name, which 
has long been a puzzle to Irish 
etymologists, nothing but the 



Bellows-Men (Ir. holg^ a bel 
and to recognise in them a i 
Celtic Cyclops.30 And thoug] 
may have been tribes in IreL 
late times who were believ 
who believed themselves, to 
to the Tuatha De Danann or 
Bolg, yet, looking to the chf 
of the written traditions cone 
these races, to say that the 
nation are descended from 
seems like deducing the desc 
the Hellenes from the Oly 
gods, the Cyclops and the Til 

David Fitzgi 



•• Ibid. p. 132 ; but the orthography vd does not occur in dictionaries. 

*• Oedf now Aod (' ee*), is yet a common name in Ireland, but is hardly recog 
in the English form, Hugh. That this, in somt" cases at least, is the first cIce 
the name Oengus (now Aongiis, or Angus), and that it simply meant Jire (and r 
one, as Zeuss surmised) may be safely gathered from such examples in pedigi 
Oengus mac Oengobandd (Oengus Ceile De), where the second name is the g 
form of Oed-an-Goba, ' 0©d the Smith: 

** Feru is * Men,' plural of fer^ which is allied to vir. 




1875] 



]11 



JERSEY AFFAIRS. 



DURING the last two or tliree* 
years various sinister reports 
from Jersey — now of discreditable 
banking disasters, now of epidemics 
of fevers and small -pox ; now of 
abortive attempts on the part of the 
authorities to bolster up tottering 
finances by issues of paper money — 
have attracted rather more of public 
notice than is generally bestowed 
on a petty dependency. The oppor- 
tunity seems a favourable one for 
some account of the working of 
the strange medley of ancient forms 
and modem chicanery under which 
the affairs of the island are con- 
ducted. 

All the powers of government 
are in Jersey centred in the 
' States/ a semi-oligarchical, semi- 
representative body, whose autho- 
rity is so far treated as sovereign 
that their arms and superscription 
are impressed upon the local copper 
coinage. About half the members 
of the States are life members. 
These are the twelve rectors of the 
twelve parishes of the island, who 
are appointed by the Crown, and 
the twelve jurats, or judges, of the 
Royal Court, who are elected by 
vote of the whole island. The 
constables and deputies, on the other 
hand, are chosen by the parishes. 
There are twelve constables, one for 
each parish, and fourteen deputies, 
the town parish of St. Heliers, 
which contains fully half the popu- 
lation of the island, electing three, 
and each of the eleven country 
parishes one. The constables and 
deputies, being elected for three 
years only, are, unlike the rectors 
and jurats, practically responsible 
to the constituencies. A consider- 
able portion, however, of the revenue 
of the island is, by virtue of some 
ancient anomaly, under the control 
of the jurats, to the exclusion of the 
other members of the States. Dif- 
fering in this respect from our 

VOL. XII. — NO. LXVII. NEW SERIES. 



Colonial legislatures, the States ot 
Jersey have neither Administration 
nor Opposition, neither Finance 
Minister nor financial statement. 
Each member proposes whatever 
legislation and expenditure he thinks 
proper, and a member severely cri- 
tical upon the money grants pro- 
posed by others must expect to fare 
but ill when he comes to propose a 
grant himself. It may be stated as 
a rule to which there are exceptions, 
that the most cultivated and wealthy 
class in Jersey do not seek to be- 
come members of the States. 
Young Jerseymen of great talent, 
indeed, generally transfer them- 
selves to some field of exertion 
more extensive than an island twelve 
miles long and with less than 60,000 
inhabitants. From these and other 
causes the States of Jersey, though 
decked with lofty attributes and a 
high-sounding title, are as regards 
knowledge and intelligence in the 
nature of a town council. Cer- 
tainly their debates are much 
poorer in ability, as well as richer 
in claptrap, than those of most of 
the larger English municipal bodies. 
The practical action of the States 
as rulers of Jersey is of one cha- 
racter with reference to matters of 
legislation, and of another and a 
widely different character with 
reference to finance. 

As a legislative body the States 
are, and have long been, in a state of 
simple and absolute torpidity. Bills 
are every year brought in, debated, 
and shelved, but nothing of real con- 
sequence or value is ever passed, or 
expected to be passed. Yet nowhere 
are most of the benefits of modem 
legislation more sorely needed. The 
ancient laws of Jersey were of 
course those of the Duchy of Nor- 
mandy, and such as were the laws of 
Normandy at the time of its rean- 
nexation to the French Crown in 
the reign of John, such for the most 

I 



112 



Jersey Affairs, 



[Jnly 



part are the laws of Jersey now. 
Mixed with a host of mischievous 
old absurdities, prejudicial to all 
alike, have grown up in process of 
time many unjust and shortsighted 
legal devices for favouring the 
Jerseyman at the expense of the 
stranger within his gates. More- 
over, as the Norman lawgivers, un- 
fortunately for Jersey, concerned 
themselves little or nothing about 
various matters deemed important 
at the present day, in addition to 
the many cases in which the laws 
of Jersey operate ill, there are very 
many others in which there is 
practically no law at all. 

Of the actual absurdities of the 
island law perhaps not a bad in- 
stance is the celebrated 'Clameur 
de Haro,' which so much interests 
the inquisitive visitor that it may 
almoet be regarded as one of the 
lions of Jersey. However attrac- 
tive to the antiquary, this proceed- 
ing is for practical purposes fraught 
with infinite clumsiness and wrong. 
In England if a man in the actual 
possession of property begins to 
pull down or alter buildings, cut 
timber, or do any similar act to the 
prejudice of any other person in- 
terested, the latter states upon oath 
in an affidavit the foots which give 
him the right to interfere, and 
applies to a Vice- Chancellor for an 
injunction. But the Jerseyman 
under the like circumstances, nei- 
ther pledging his oath to any facts, 
nor submitting his case to any 
judgment except his own, enters 
upon the disputed premises, falls 
down upon his knees, and ex- 
claims aloud, ' Haro, ELaro, k Paide, 
mon prince; on me fait tort!* 
The word * Haro ' is explained by 
the local antiquaries to be a cor- 
ruption of 'Ah, Rollo,* the Rollo 
thus invoked being Rollo, first 
Duke of Normandy and ancestor of 
William the Conqueror. At the 
sound of these calmlistic words, all 
workmen are bound by Jersey law 
immediately to quit the spot, and 



remove their tools, and the place 
must be left exactly as it is untfl 
the matter is adjudicated on by the 
Royal Court. The Jerseyman is 
thus, in fact, his own Vioe-Chan- 
cellor, and himself issues out of 
his own mouth whatever injunctioiiB 
he may think he stands in need of 
But his injunctions have a far wider 
operation than those of the English 
judge, for while in England the 
parfy in possession may, upon show- 
ing a proper case, have the injunc- 
tion dissolved within a few days, in 
Jersey years may, and often do, 
elapse before the decision of the 
Royal Court can be obtained. 
During all this time the boildings 
must be left to crumble, the timber 
to rot, and the presumptive bnt 
ousted owner to settle as best he 
can with his builders or labouren 
for as much as they had executed of 
the interrupted works. It is true 
that he who has, as a Jersey law- 
book expresses it, 'without just 
grounds called on the name of 
Rollo,' is liable by the island law to 
be amerced, and to payment of 
costs ; but this is but poor comfort 
to the party whose enjoyment of 
his property has been interrupted. 
A still more marveUous device 
for the frustration of justice obtains 
in many cases of insolvency. Instead 
of a rateable distribution of the 
debtor's property amongst the cre- 
ditors, alist is made of his liabihties, 
in the order in which they were 
incurred. The option is then 
given to the creditor lowest on the 
Hst to ' make himself tenant, after 
decree,' as it is called — ^that is to 
say, to take over to himself the 
whole of the debtor's property, on 
his undertaking to make payment 
in full of the whole of the debts 
on the hst coming before his own. 
This, of course, would be a losing 
bargain for the creditor, unless the 
insolvent's property were more than 
sufficient to pay all these preceding 
debts in full. But if the creditor 
refuses, he thereby loses all right to 



1875] 



Jersey Affairs, 



113 



receive anything whatever, and his 
debt is extinguished. The same 
oflfer is then made to the creditor 
last bat one on the list, and if he 
refuses, the process is carried on 
until, by the extinguishment of the 
debts of the creditors refusing, it 
at last becomes worth while for 
some creditor to make himself ten- 
ant. To do this with any degree of 
prudence, it is, of course, indispen- 
sable that the creditor should be a 
man of basiness, and, moreover, 
should have local knowledge, en- 
abling him to judge pretty acca- 
rately what is to be expected from 
the realisation of the insolvent's 
property to be made over to him. 
Neither any creditor outside the 
island, nor even the widow or or- 
phan creditor on the spot, neither 
trustee nor executor, could in any 
ordinary case prudently incur the 
risk or responsibility of becoming 
tenant. Accordingly, under this 
system of insolvency, all these 
classes of creditors go to the wall, 
and, as a rule, the astute local man 
of business comes in for what ought 
to be their share of the insolvent's 
assets. There are men of this class 
in Jersey who are said to have 
amassed considerable fortunes by 
^making themselves tenants.' 

Arrest for debt still survives in 
Jersey. It does so, however, as a 
somewhat one-sided process, for if 
the party arrested is a landowner 
in the island, and will make a state- 
ment showing that he is solvent, he 
can obtain his release by an easy 
process. As the ownership of land 
is so much subdivided that most 
Jerseymen above the poorest class 
own some piece of ground, how- 
ever small, it results that, upon any 
dispute about money between a 
Jerseyman and an Englishman or 
other stranger, in nine cases out of 
ten the Jerseyman can imprison the 
stranger, but the stranger cannot 
imprison the Jerseyman. The 
stranger in Jersey is occasionally 
vexed, too, by the power of land- 



lords under the island law to dis- 
train for rent before it is due. A 
man may pay his rent punctually 
on Midsummer Day, and find a dis- 
tress in his house the next morning 
for the rent to fall due at the fol- 
lowing Christmas. He may get rid 
of it by finding security ; but then 
nobody likes to ask his friends to 
undertake a money liability. It is 
true that this step is only taken by 
landlords who mistrust their tenant 
or have quarrelled with him ; but 
the reproach and scandal of an oc- 
casional distraint of this kind pro- 
bably causes more loss to the owners 
of house property in Jersey than 
they can as a body repay them- 
selves by this high-handed course 
of action. 

Police duties are still mainly en- 
trusted, as in the olden time, to 
elected parish notabilities, who re- 
ceive no pay whatever, and whose 
activity is on a par with their 
emoluments. As there are but ten 
paid policemen in the whole island, 
it naturally presents an attractive 
field of action to the criminal 
and depraved. The scenes of 
drunkenness and disorder in the 
streets of St. Heliers astound 
French visitors and surprise even a 
Londoner, A single burglar who 
was convicted a year or two ago 
had broken into and robbed between 
thirty and forty houses in and about 
the town of St. Heliers before the 
treachery of an accomplice led to 
his capture. Nor is the safety of 
the seas more scrupulously cared 
for than the inviolability of the 
dwelling-house. The important 
lighthouse at the south-western 
point of Jersey the States will 
neither allow the Trinity House to 
manage nor manage properly them- 
selves. More than once during last 
winter the lighthouse remained in 
darkness because of a quarrel 
amongst the officials upon the ques- 
tion whose business it was to light 
it. From the like cause the fog- 
signals at the same spot remained 

I 2 



114 



Jersey Affairs. 



[July 



unsounded. This was Imd enough 
oven for the mail steamers, whose 
captains may be supposed to have 
some knowledsfe of the local eccen- 
tricities, but to any strange vessel 
happening to arrive from distant 
seas the peril must have been 
frightful. 

The convenience and security of 
the Imperial coinage have not yet 
recommended its adoption in Jersey. 
The British shilling is still awk- 
wardly divided into thirteen pence ; 
and, notwithstanding two ruinous 
banking disasters, the currency of 
the island still comprises unre- 
stricted issues of bank-notes (foul 
they are, and displeasing to eye and 
nostril), not only by banks, private 
and joint-stock, but by such bodies 
as parish assemblies, paving boards, 
the trustees of various places of 
worship, a Masonic Temple Com- 
pany, a Temperance Society, and 
a Windmill Association. An issue 
of one-pound notes has been, in fact, 
the ordinary and recognised ex- 
pedient of any body of persons in 
Jersey who desired to effect some 
common purpose, but did not desire 
to pay for it. Upon the occur- 
rence, upwards of two years ago, of 
the first and more disastrous of the 
banking failures already referred to, 
it was discovered that though there 
was a large and wealthy (as well 
as, unluckily for the creditors, an 
influential) body of shareholders 
whose liability was unlimited, it 
was practically impossible that this 
liability could be enforced. Under 
the ancient legal procedure of Nor- 
mandy, it appeared, the matter 
could only be equitably adjudicated 
upon by the Royal Court if every 
individual creditor took action 
against every individual share- 
holder — a requirement which could 
not have been in this case satisfied 
by less than somewhere between 
20,000 and 30,000 proceedings at 
law. Under these circumstances 
the States, instead of passing a 
winding-up Act, sought to provide a 



fund for satisfying tlie creditors by 
means of a public lottery. Upon 
failure of the preposterous expecta- 
tion that the royal assent to such a 
measure could be obtained, nothing 
further of a practical nature was 
done ; the creditors have, up to the 
time we write, received no payment 
whatever; the shareholders, who, 
though quite able to pay in full the 
3oo,oooZ. due from them, know 
their vantage ground, have offered 
a composition which may possibly 
give the creditors some five shil- 
lings in the pound ; and this, when 
distress and hope deferred have had 
full time to do their work, the de- 
frauded creditors may probably be 
glad enough to accept. 

Of effectual sanitary legislation 
there is in Jersey none whatever. 
A bed of peat underlying the town 
of St. Heliers shows that its site, 
which is but little above the sea 
level, was anciently a morass, and 
that therefore good and skilfiU 
di^ainage is peculiarly needed. The 
actual drainage consists of some 
old-fashioned main sewers, into 
some of which the tide is allowed to 
flow, forcing back the sewer gases 
at higrh water into the streets and 
houses. Nor is the connection be- 
tween the main sewers, sach as 
they are, and the houses of the 
town secured by any effectual in- 
spection or legislation. Amidst 
leaky cesspools and imperfect honse 
drains are sunk the shallow welb 
from which is pumped up the di- 
luted sewage, which the landlords 
of St. Heliers are pleased to call by 
the name of drinking-water. A water 
company formed a few years ago for 
supplying the town with water frota 
a distance has lately become hank* 
rupt, because no houseowner is 
obliged bylaw to supply his tenants 
or himself with wholesome water. 
Adulteration Act of any practical 
efficacy there is none. All things 
deleterious are in abundance, from 
watered milk to gin fortified with 
vitriol. The gas works yomit forti: 



1875] 



Jersey Affairs. 



115 



their effluvia in the middle of the 
town, and, uuharassed by inspectors, 
supply, at five shillings per thousand 
feet, gas which the most unblushing 
of the London companies would 
blush for. From a place thus cir- 
cumstanced fevers, as might be 
expected, are never absent. Of late, 
too, the small- pox has held its 
ground in Jersey with singular 
tenacity. Vaccination is not com- 
pulsory, and three or four years 
ago a proposal to make it so was 
stoutly and successfully opposed in 
the States. Notwithstanding the 
recent epidemic, this conclusion has 
been confirmed by another vote of 
the States since the beginning of 
the present year. A proposal 
brought forward two or three years 
ago that, upon the registration of 
deaths, the cause of death should 
be verified by medical certificate, 
as in England, fared no better. If 
a man who loses one of his family 
by any contagious or epidemic 
disease finds it more convenient to 
enter the death as caused by some 
ordinary illness, there is none to 
gainsay him. Under such a state 
of things trustworthy evidence of 
the sanitary condition of the island 
is, of course, quite unattainable. 

The neglect of all sanitary pre- 
cautions in Jersey is the more 
astonishing because thereby the 
island suffers not only in health, 
but very seriously also in pocket. 
The mild and genial climate and 
charming scenery of Jersey are 
singularly fitted to attract persons 
retiring from business and the 
professions, or suffering from ill- 
health. Thirty years ago the place 
was crowded with residents of this 
kind. At that time the town of St. 
Heliers, very m uch smaller than now, 
was probably, as regards drainage 
and water supply, neither better 
nor worse than the general run of 
watering-places in England. Com- 
paratively few people then allowed 
snob considerations serioasly to 
inflaence their choice of a residence. 



But of late years public opinion, 
and the legislation which has 
sprung from it, have worked a rapid 
change in the sanitary arrange- 
ments of English towns and the 
requirements of English families. 
Drainage and water supply are 
almost always amongst the first 
subjects of enquiry with persons 
choosing a residence, and an epi- 
demic is almost as ruinous to land- 
lords and builders as an earthquake. 
But while these changes have been 
going on in England, everything in 
Jersey has stood still. Possibly 
the notions of Jerseymen on sani- 
tary questions may be influenced by 
the example of their neighbours on 
the opposite coast of France, where 
the picturesque old town of St. 
Malo, with its ten or twelve thou- 
sand inhabitants, contrives to exist, 
like Lisbon of old, without any 
system of underground sewers what- 
ever. In consequence, very much, 
of the evil repute of Jersey in a 
sanitary point of view, the number 
of English residents in the island has 
so much decreased, that house rent 
and the value of house property 
have been reduced by one-fourth, or 
perhaps even one-third, building 
has ceased altogether, and the retail 
trade of the place has suffered 
most severely. Nowhere, assuredly, 
would the establishment of a good 
sanitary system * pay * better than 
in Jersey, if Jerseymen, and those 
who administer their affairs, had 
only the sense to see it. 

But it will be well for Jersey if 
before very long she does not suffer 
stUl more severely from the over- 
activity of the States in matters of 
finance than from their torpidity in 
matters of legislation. In many re- 
spects, indeed, they are economical 
to the extremity of niggardliness. It 
is not so much at bottom the doctrines 
of the Anti- Vaccination League, as 
the unwillingness to pay public vac- 
cinators, that disinclines them to 
vaccination. Although at the time 
of the late epidemic of small-pox 



116 



Jersey Affairs. 



[July 



large unoccnpied buildings could 
have been obtained in the country, 
no attempt was made to isolate the 
small-pox patients, because it was 
cheaper to send them to the general 
hospital in the town. A few pounds 
would provide trap-doors to prevent 
the tide from ascending the main 
sewers and driving back the sewer 
gases into the houses, but these few 
pounds have never been forthcoming. 
Upon police and education there is 
as little willingness to spend money 
as in the protection of the public 
health. Even money actually due 
from the States is not always to be 
got out of them without legal pro- 
ceedings. Not long ago a trades- 
man was obliged to sue their Trea- 
surer for sums admitted to be due 
for work done and goods supplied. 
In the month of March of the present 
year the certificated teachers of the 
public elementary schools in Jersey 
in vain petitioned the States to pay 
the overdue Education Grant out of 
which their salaries te the 30 th of 
September, 1874, as owing te them 
upon the certificate of the educa- 
tional department of the Privy 
Council, would be receivable. In 
vain they represented the hardships 
caused to them by the many months* 
delay, hardships so serious that 
some of them, it is said, had been 
obliged to sell their fdrniture. An 
accustomed spokesman of the domi- 
nant party insisted on the wretched 
quibble that the teachers* salaries 
were immediately payable by the 
directors of the schools, but omitted 
to explain how the directors were 
to pay the teachers while the States 
withheld the Education Grant from 
the directors. One of his colleagues 
even sought to deny to the petition 
the usual courtesy of being lodged 
' au greffe,' equivalent to being laid 
on the table in the British Parlia- 



ment. This barren honour, jew- 
ingly conceded, was all that iiie 
petition at last obtained. The pub- 
lic money in the Treasurer's hands 
was alleged to be wanted for more 
urgent purposes, and the petitioning 
teachers were recommended to have 
patience. Such of them as can 
obtain employment elsewhere have 
naturally expressed their intention 
of getting out of the island as &st 
as possible.^ 

It is not in all directions, however, 
that the States are parsimonious. 
There are matters, some small, but 
one a very great one, in which they 
rush into the opposite extreme. 
Expenditure upon such things as 
dinners, and portraits of membofi 
of their own body, could scarcely 
be carried f&r enough to ruin the 
commonwealth, but what is spent 
in this way in Jersey amounts to 
an appreciable percentage of ^ 
revenue of the island. Nor did it 
look well, when it was thought 
worth while by the Crown a ww 
years ago to resist the expenditare 
of certain public monies in dinners, 
that the judicial body by which the 
legality of the dinners was upheld 
was so largely identical with the 
convivial body by whom those 
dinners are customarily eaten. All 
these matters, however, sink into 
insignificance in view of the feet 
that the States have lately, with 
the example of Aldemey before 
their eyes, commenced harbour 
works at St. Heliers, which will 
cost at all events from 300,000!. to 
5oo,oooZ. sterling — that is to say, 
from 5Z. to 9Z. per head of the popu- 
lation of Jersey. In proportion to 
the population, this is equivalent to 
an expenditure on harbour works 
by the United Kingdom of no less 
than from 160 to 280 millions of 
pounds sterling. It is difficult to 



^ Some weeks subsequently, and nftor these pages had been written, a memorial on 
behalf of the starving teachers was forwarded to the Home Secretary, and thereupon the 
authorities, finding the matter becoming serious, made haste to proTide foot payment 
of the salaries. 



1875] 



Jersey Affairs, 



117 



accoTUit, on any intelligible public 
grounds, for the adoption of what 
for so small an island is so gigantic 
a project. The existing harbour of 
St. Heliers is never full, and often 
along half a mile of quay no more 
than two or three coUier vessels are 
to be seen lying. It is true that 
when the steamers from England 
arrive at low water the mails and 
passengers have to be landed in 
boats. But this inconvenience, it is 
said, could be cured by the construc- 
tion of a landing-stage at a com- 
paratively moderate cost, and at 
all events it seems hardly worth 
remedying at the cost of burdening 
a population of 57,000 souls with 
from 15,000/. to 25,oooZ. per annum 
of interest on borrowed money. 
Nevertheless, the works are in pro- 
gress, and probably from 70,000/. 
to 90,000/. have already been ex- 
pended. If report speak truly, how- 
ever, the credit of the island is 
alre^y so prejudiced by the amount 
of loans raised for this purpose that 
the utmost difficulty is found in 
borrowing further money. The 
inflationist policy, also, as the 
Americans call it, appears to have 
reached its limit, for an attempt to 
provide funds for the harbour works 
by an issue of one-pound notes has 
lately failed. Altogether it seems 
hard to see how the works can be 
carried on much longer. Fortunate 
will it be if the difficulty of pro- 
ceeding grows into impossibility. 
Jersey will be well quit of so ruinous 
a project, even at the loss of all the 
money already thrown into the sea. 
If the undertaking proceeds, the 
island will assuredly have to take its 
choice before long between bank- 
ruptcy and a new and heavy burden 
of taxation. 

Bad and discreditable, however, 
as may be the management of legis- 
lative and financial affairs in Jersey, 
the administration of justice in the 
island as at present conducted is ten 
times worse. The Boyal Court of 
Jersey consists of the Bailiff of the 



island and of the twelve jurats, or 
judges, already mentioned. It is 
wanting neither in the pomp and 
circumstance, nor in the extent of 
jurisdiction, civil and criminal, be- 
fitting a high tribunal ; neither in 
scarlet robes, nor in the power to 
inflict even the extremest penalty 
of the law. During the last few 
years it has had before it several 
cases in which sums ranging from 
20,000/. to 40,000/. were at stake, 
and it will shortly have to try a 
prisoner charged with a heinous 
murder. The Bailiff, a competent 
salaried officer appointed by the 
Crown, is the president of the 
Court, but his opinion is neither 
binding on, nor in practice deferred 
to by the jurats his colleagues. The 
twelve jurats are chosen for life, 
ostensibly by a plebiscitary vote of 
the whole island, in reality in very 
great measure by the little knot of 
wire-pullers who manipulate the 
electoral machinery of Jersey. The 
office being unsalaried, and bringing 
in no large amount of fees, is sought 
for chiefly for the sake of the import- 
ance and influence conferred by it. 
Upon the election of a jurat the town 
of St. Heliers is paraded by bands 
of music and bearers of flags and 
placards paid for by the candidates. 
Sometimes more or less gross scur- 
rilities directed against each can- 
didate by the supporters of the 
other are to be seen upon the walls. 
An amount of drunkenness indica- 
tive of treating enlivens the streets, 
and bribery is said to be by no 
means unknown. The gentlemen 
elected are of a variety of occupa- 
tions and professions. Bankers, 
merchants, shipowners, retired cap- 
tains of the merchant service, land- 
owners, and farmers there are, bnt 
butchers and one or two other classes 
of tradesmen are said to be disquali- 
fied by ancient usage for the judicial 
ermine, and members of the profes- 
sion of the law, though eligible, are 
in practice scarcely ever chosen. 
We believe there is not one lawyer 



118 



Jersey Affairs. 



amongst the present jurats. Pos- 
sibly it may be thought that a tribu- 
nal had better be either wholly 
professional or wholly lay. 

The various offices connected with 
the Royal Court are said to be, by 
ancient custom, saleable upon every 
vacancy. The advocates usually 
study the law and take their degrees 
in France. They are sworn not 
only to undertake none but just 
causes, but also, it would seem, to 
uphold those causes by none but 
just arguments. With charac- 
teristic unfairness the proceedings 
are, by an invariable rule, conducted 
in French. The Jersey-bom popu- 
lation, excepting some of the poorest 
and most ignorant class, know 
English, but the English-born 
population, excepting some of the 
best educated, do n,ot know French. 
To the language which both sections 
of the community know is preferred 
the language which only one section 
knows. Interpreters are not em- 
ployed, so that an Englishman 
charged with any criminal offence 
may be convicted without under- 
standing one word of the evidence 
given against him. The proposal 
that in each case coming before the 
Court the language best understood 
by the parties concerned in it should 
be adopted has always been scouted 
by the States. 

It might be supposed that a 
tribunal ignorant of law would seek 
to discountenance technicalities and 
found its decisions, as far as possible, 
upon what is called common sense. 
On the contrary, these lay judges 
seem more addicted than the lawyers 
themselves to legal technicalities. 
Trial by jury is employed upon 
criminal prosecutions only. In 
civil cases the evidence, instead of 
being given orally before the judges, 
is reduced to writing in most prolix 
form by officers of the Court, and 
the matter is bandied backwards 
and forwards between the function, 
ary who takes down the evidence 
and the court wliich ultimately 



decides upon it. Proceedin 
ducted in this fashion are, o 
sity, slow and costly even be} 
ordinary slowness and costl 
lawsuits. Several vears ar 
rally required to bring tl 
simplest litigation to a con 
and when to delay and cxj 
added absolute uncertaint 
even elementary questions 
may be dealt with by minds 
of legal training, the very ai 
of the land of promise 
reformers appears to be arri 
A more crying evil, howe 
mains. In a little island like 
half the suitors who come 
one of these elected judges ( 
himself actively engaged i 
mercial or other business 
place) stand towards him i 
personal relation or other- 
enemy, neighbour, kinsman, 
creditor, rival in business, c 
ciate in business. The jurat 
to-day may to-mori'ow h 
decide a case in which the V( 
to whose exertions and si 
he owes his election is pla 
defendant. Some of the m 
portant suits now and latel; 
ing before the Court were 1 
against persons themselves 
the office of jurat. The e 
referred to is at its wors 
a jurat is likewise chain 
manager of a local banl 
chairmen of the two Jersc} 
which lately failed were jun 
they were by no means tl 
bank chairmen and manage 
have been elected to thai 
Now, a large local bank in a • 
town has an interest in th< 
of nearly all the traders 
place. The ability of A, B 
to repay advances receive 
a bank is constantly de] 
on the solvency of D, E, 
who are not themselves cu 
of the bank. It is very cert 
the unfortunate jurat who 
undergoing penal servitude 
misappropriation of securit 



1875] 



Jersey Affairs, 



119 



trusted to him for safe keeping, 
must, as a judge, have decided 
scores of cases in which the bank 
of which he was chairman had a 
most substantial, if indii^ect, in- 
terest. Even when no actual 
unfairness is committed the occur- 
rence of cases of this kind is de- 
structive of all respect for the 
administration of the law. That a 
judge having interests conflicting 
with his duty will be biassed by his 
interests may be only probable, but 
that he will be suspected and be- 
lieved to be so biassed is a certainty. 
The reconstitution of the Royal 
Court of Jersey has been recom- 
mended by more than one Royal 
Commission, but the apathy of 
ParHament has proved fatal to 
moral attempts to give effect to this 
recommendation. During the pre- 
sent session a Bill has been brought 
into the House of Commons by 
Mr. Locke taking away the judicial 
authority of the jurats, and pro- 
viding for the appointment by the 
Crown of three paid judges of the 
Royal Court. The usual fate of 
pnvate members* Bills, however, 
appears to await this measure. The 
Home Secretary in consenting to its 
introduction described the Jersey 
Court as the ' anomaly of Europe,* 
but gave no more active aid, and at 
the time we write the second read- 
ing has not yet been reached. The 
details of Mr, Locke's Bill as it 
stands cannot have been carefully 
considered. Singularly enough,while 
the jurats are shorn of judicial power 
their oflBce is preserved, and they 
are to remain life members of the 
States, and to retain the sole admi- 
nistration of part of the public 
revenue. Moreover, the judicial 
power provided appears to be ex- 
travagantly beyond what is needed. 
A single judge could dispose of all 
the ordinary litigation of 57,000 
people, and have a great deal of 
time to spare. For -appeal purposes 
it has been forcibly urged, by an 
able local newspaper, that a com- 



bined court for Jersey and Guernsey 
(and the smaller Channel Islands 
might well be included) would be 
both cheaper and more efficient than 
a separate Court of Appeal in each 
island. The present judicial arrange- 
ments in Guernsey seem to be very 
much the same as in Jersey. It 
lately appeared from the Guernsey 
papers that upon the death of a 
jurat of the Royal Court of that 
island a local bank manager had, 
according to the conventional phrase 
in use on such occasions, ' consented 
to be put in nomination* for the 
vacancy. 

Writers, like painters, seek to 
give variety to their compositions 
by alternations of light and shade. 
The picture here drawn of the 
political institutions of Jersey 
would certainly be less monoto- 
nous if defects and merits could 
have been artistically placed in con- 
trast. The difl&culty has been to 
discover the stock of merits needed 
for effective grouping of this kind. 
One political blessing of the very 
first order the place, indeed, has 
hitherto enjoyed. This is the ab- 
sence of Customs duties. Perhaps, 
with all our belief in free trade, it 
is requisite to' have lived upon one 
of these little spots — rare, indeed, 
upon the earth's surface — where 
ti*ade is free from these exactions, 
and the tired and sea-sick traveller 
is allowed to enter without question, 
fully to know what a benefit is this. 
But Jersey has enjoyed this bene- 
fit from time immemorial, and it is 
much to be feared that her present 
legislature is putting it in imminent 
peril by their rash financial policy. 

Public education has until re- 
cently been well provided for. Not 
only have schools under the inspec- 
tion of the Educational Department 
of the Privy Council been main- 
tained for the poorer classes, but 
there is a public College which is 
visited by the examiners of the 
Oxford and Cambridge Schools 
Examination Board, and at which 



120 



Jersey Affairs, 



[July 



education of a high class is to be 
obtained at a very cheap rate. 
This college has given a strong 
stimulus to education in the island, 
and, moreover, has enabled many 
Jerseymen to win high distinction 
at the universities, and to obtain 
entrance into the Indian civil and 
other branches of the public service. 
Tf the credit of establishing it be- 
longs to a past generation, that of 
maintaining it thus far in full effi- 
ciency fairly belongs to the present 
States. But unfortunately here 
again the future wears a doubtful 
aspect. The unwillingness of the 
States any longer to pay the teachers 
in the elementary schools we have 
already seen. And with reference 
to the College also there have lately 
been unmistakeable indications that 
the expense of keeping it up is be- 
ginning to be resented by those 
members of the States who are most 
active in promoting a lavish expen- 
diture for less useful ends. 

It may seem strange that nothing 
has been thus far said of the Lieu- 
tenant- Governor of Jersey, appointed 
by the Crown. The truth, however, 
is that the active duties of the 
Lieutenant-Governor are almost 
entirely military. The Lieutenant- 
Governor himself is always a 
veteran general officer, and gene- 
rally one who has seen much hard 
service. He has the assistance of 
a (Government secretary, who is a 
military officer, and of a military 
staff; but no civil servant is em- 
ployed under him in any capacity. 
He commands not only the Queen's 
troops in the island, but the Jersey 
militia, a force remarkably strong 
in officers and remarkably weak in 
private soldiers. This latter com- 
mand is, probably, an embarrassing 
one. A controversy respecting the 
mih'tia has for the last year or two 
been pending between the States 
of Jersey and the War Office. Both 
the late and present Secretaries of 
State for War have threatened to 
withdraw the subsidy annually 



voted by Parliament, unless the 
force be reorganised and made 
efficient. This reorganisation the 
States have thus far steadfastly 
resisted. Unless unusual firmness 
be exhibited by the War Office, the 
matter may probably end in the ad- 
mission of some colourable changes, 
leaving the militia in essential 
points very much what it is now. 
But, however this military ques- 
tion may be settled, it is certain 
that, with reference to civil adminis- 
tration, the Lieutenant- Gt)vemor 
has but little authority or influence. 
This has been long ago proved by 
one or two Lieutenant-Governors, 
zealous for the reformation of 
abuses, whose utmost efforts failed 
to bring about any practical result, 
except that of getting themselves 
into hot water. So the more judi- 
cious Governors have been content 
to command the Queen's troops and 
militia, fulfil the social requirements 
of their position, and rdSrain fix)ni 
intervention in matters in which 
their powers do not enable them to 
intervene effectually. • 

Our unfavourable criticisms are 
far from being intended to apply 
to anything in Jersey outside the 
sphere of its legislature and govern- 
ment. Upon these subjects the 
opinions here expressed are cer- 
tainly not more severe than those 
of many educated and intelligent 
Jerseymen on the spot. With 
reference especially to the harbour 
works, the difficulty seems to be to 
meet with any well-informed man 
in Jersey, unconnected with the 
States, who does not regard the 
undertaking as disastrous to the 
island. But unfortunately, as al- 
ready pointed out, it is by no means 
usual for Jerseymen of the most 
cultivated class to take part in 
Jersey politics. Probably the same 
fastidiousness which is said to in- 
fluence many educated Americans 
is in operation here. It could not, 
indeed, be agreeable to be brou^t 
into collision with the local poHtdcal 



1876] 



Jersey Affairs, 



121 



leaders, a sturdy class of men, well 
accustomed to noisy public meetings, 
prompt to hurl invective against 
all who oppose them, and much too 
securely encased in panoply of brass 
to be easily wounded in return. 
Nor are the island constituencies 
such as a man of much political 
capacity would willingly appeal 
to. Though the population of St. 
Heliers is a mixed one, the peasant 
proprietors of the country parishes, 
who return more than four-fifths of 
the elected members of the States, 
are in character, as in race, essen- 
tially French. Saving, industrious, 
orderly, and sober, the Jersey pea- 
sant dSsplays extreme acuteness in 
the conduct of his own daily business, 
but there his sharpness ends. Upon 
a treaty for pig or potatoe none 
can outwit him, but in matters of 
larger import the master of a few 
empty phrases and shallow fallacies 
wins his confidence as readily as 
successive * Saviours of Society * 
have heretofore, by an analogous 
process, won the confidence of his 
cousins on the opposite hills of 
Normandy. The one sole election 
Shibboleth in Jersey is the privi- 
leges of the island. What these un- 
defined and mystic privileges really 
are, what is the benefit or use of 
them, whether they most conduce 
to ward ofi* oppression from without, 
or to stifle wholesome or rational 
improvement within, are questions 
with which none concern them- 
selves. The uneducated Jerseyman 
has no doubt been induced to be- 
lieve that if his island were (as, for 
instance, Barbadoes or Tobago) an 
unprivileged possession of the 
British Crown, the Imperial Govern- 
ment would exact taxes from him, 
and deprive him of all control over 
his local affairs. The Barbadian or 
Tobagan could teach him better. 

But however great may be the 
evils of the existing state of things 
in Jersey, he who complains of them 
must, no doubt, expect to find him- 
self met by the remark that, after 



all, it is only a storm in a washing- 
tub. Yet, surely, if England chooses 
to retain a washing- tub amongst 
her household fiimiture, it is her 
duty to take care, as far as in her 
lies, that it be a tight, clean, and 
proper washing-tub. It is not 
meant by this that an unlimited 
intervention from without in the 
affairs of Jersey would be expedient. 
An honest and capable dictator 
could, undoubtedly, effect vast prac- 
tical improvements ; but then is it 
not better that a community should 
govern ifself, even though compara- 
tively ill, than it should depend 
upon external agency to govern it, 
even though comparatively well? 
As the processes of human develop- 
ment seem almost as slow as geo- 
logical processes, it may be that 
the inhabitants of Jersey are by 
infinitesimal and imperceptible in- 
crements acquiring their political 
education, and that afber some vast 
cycle of years they may become 
even skilful in self-government. 
Tardy as this process may appear, 
it would be a pity to interrupt it. 
Much that is useful, however, could 
be done without by any means 
interrupting it. The monstrous 
abuse of elected judges assuming 
in the name of the Queen to decide 
without legal knowledge cases in 
which they may often be not wholly 
disinterested, ought surely to be at 
once swept away, and here, as in 
every British possession, except the 
Channel Islands, the administration 
of justice be entrusted to profes- 
sional salaried officers appointed by 
the Crown. 

The suppression of the j urate 
would, moreover, by diminishing 
the number of life members of the 
States, be a step in the direction of 
self-government. If this oligar- 
chical element were to be entirely 
excluded, and the States to consist 
wholly of elected members, and to 
have control over the whole revenue 
of the island, every advance in 
public opinion in Jersey would make 



122 



Jersey Affairs. 



[Jdv 



itself immediately felt, and the pro- 
cess of amelioration would be stimu- 
lated. No reforming party can be 
expected to spring into activity 
while the constitution of the States 
is such that reforms, even if loudly 
called for by public opinion, could 
not possibly be carried. 

Though it is most proper that 
gallant old soldiers should be re- 
warded, it is neither just nor rea- 
sonable that the governorship of a 
place like Jersey should be regarded 
merely as a means of confernng 
such reward. The system of be- 
stowing Colonial governorships on 
distinguished military officers was 
found to work badly, and was 
abandoned many years ago. The 
Governor of Jersey, and such of his 
officials as have to do with civil 
affairs, should be men of the same 
class as are employed in similar 
positions in the Colonies, fitted by 
previous training and experience to 
deal with local legislatures, and to 
keep the central Government fully 
informed respecting the state and 
progress of public affairs in the 
island. 

An annual audit, by independent 
civil servants, of the public accounts 
of Jersey, and the publication, 
under sanction of the auditors, of 
an annual statement in detail of the 
public revenue and expenditure, 
assets and liabilities (none of which 
particulars are now made public in 



any but the most unpunctual, vague, 
and unintelligible way), so far 
from being incompatible with self- 
government, would do more than 
anything else to enable the island to 
govern itself with its eyes open. 
If those members of the States are 
sincere who affirm that there is 
nothing to conceal in the public 
accounts of Jersey, they ought to 
be the first to welcome a plan 
which, if they are right, would 
remove the belief that the islajid is 
on the verge of insolvency, now 
entertained very widely. By the 
energy of the resistance to an 
independent audit of the public 
accounts may be measured the 
expediency and utility of such an 
audit. 

Other reforms there are, scarcely 
less needed, which space does not 
permit us to enter upon here. For 
the correction of not more crying 
evils Parliament has, without up- 
rooting the principle of self-govern- 
ment, interfered, in the Isle of 
Man, in Jamaica, and elsewhere, 
with local judicatures and legis- 
latures become effete or hurtfiil. 
And it certainly seems a startling 
thing to affirm, with reference to 
any dependency of the Crown, upon 
any plea whatever, that be the mis- 
government however extreme, the 
abuses however flagrant, Parliament 
must be held absolved from the 
duty of intervening. 




1875] 



123 



THE CONDITION OF PALESTINE. 



rilHE mission which Sir Moses 
JL Montefiore has just imposed on 
himself, has set most people think- 
ing on the condition of a land 
which will always command the 
respect of both Jews and Gentiles, 
The present is by no means the first 
occasion on which Sir Moses Monte- 
fiore, now ninety-one years of age, 
has journeyed to Jerusalem in the 
interests of his co-religionists ; and 
those who are acquainted with his 
aspirations on the subject of the 
Holy Land will feel no surprise at 
his undertaking, at this period of his 
life, a mission for the purpose of 
enquiring into the condition of Pa- 
lestine, and the best means of alle- 
viating the destitution of its Jewish 
inhabitants. 

From time immemorial almost 
the Jews, living in all parts of the 
world, have regularly, without inter- 
mission, forwarded sums of money 
to be distributed to the poor Is- 
raelites of Jerusalem, many of whom 
were attracted thither by religious 
impulses ; very orthodox Jews of 
Poland, Russia, arid Germany being 
actuated by a desire of spending 
their last days within the boun- 
daries of the Holy City. Frequently, 
indeed, the religious feeling was en- 
tirely feigned, numerous families 
resorting to Jerusalem to escape the 
necessity of working for their live- 
lihood, and share in the money pro- 
vided for the poor of the Holy Land. 
Children even grew up to look upon 
their portion of charitable relief as 
their property, to which the law en- 
titled them. On the other hand, there 
were many pious incapacitated old 
men, some immigrants, others indi- 
genous to the soil, who were in- 
spired by the highest motives, and 
were content to subsist on bread 
and water so long as they had the 
gratification of breathing the air of 
the Holy City. It need not be said 
that the system of indiscriminate 



almsgiving employed in Jerusalem 
and the surrounding cities was pro- 
ductive of very unfortunate results ; 
all forms of industry decayed ; the 
pauperism became chronic, and, as 
the population increased, the por- 
tion of reHof allotted to each indi- 
vidual became smaller. Add fre- 
quent famine, disease, and political 
oppression to this state of things, 
and one may obtain a tolerably ac- 
curate idea of the state of the Jews 
of Palestine in recent times. 

Many expressed their desire to 
work for their livelihood, if work 
could but be found for them; they 
had no wish to remain idle and 
subsist on the means of their co- 
religionists. Six times did that 
aged and noble-minded philanthro- 
pist Sir Moses Montefiore, often 
accompanied by his wife, the late 
Lady Judith Montefiore, journey 
to Jerusalem in order to stem 
the tide of pauperism and suf- 
fering which ever and anon threat- 
ened to overwhelm the children 
of Israel. But despite the erec- 
tion of almshouses, hospitals, and 
schools, the condition of the Jews 
of Jerusalem, and, indeed, of Pales- 
tine generally, remained in statu 
quo. It was seen plainly that the 
only means of permanently im- 
proving their wretched state was the 
introduction of agriculture and ge- 
neral trade, and that, unless this was 
effectually done, Palestine stood 
little chance of regeneration. The 
task was a difficult one, and all 
shrank from it intimidated. 

In June 1874 Colonel John C. 
Gawler, F.R.G.S., of the Tower, 
submitted to Sir Moses Montefiore 
a scheme for the promotion of agri- 
culture in the Holy Land. This 
scheme is well worth consideration. 
He proposed the formation of a 
Society to encourage Europeans to 
devote themselves to a^culture in 
Palestine, who would employ the 



124 



T/ie Ciytulitlon of Falestitie. 



[July 



Jewish inhabitants. He suggested 
that the aid of the Society should 
be granted to those who gave Jewish 
labourers the preference. 'Of 
course/ said the Colonel, *if these 
were not available, Arab labour 
could be resorted to ; but, whether 
or no, work and wages would be 
attainable by those desirous of help, 
ing themselves ; and in any case the 
land would be cultivated and re- 
deemed from desolation — the grand- 
est and surest step towards the re- 
generation of any country.* The 
following is the manner in which 
he defined the labours of the pro- 
posed institution : 

1. It might aid intending settlers hy 
advice and influence, and by information in 
the selection and purchase of property, &c. 

2. It might make advances to landholders 
on mortgage, on conditions aforesaid of 
giving preference to Jewish labour. The 
interests of the farmer woidd be those 
of the Society, "whose business and interest 
it would bo to exert itself in every way to 
promote the prosperity of the recipients of 
its aid. 

3. In addition to the advances above 
mentioned, the best European machinery 
and agricultnral implements, which are of- 
ten beyond the reach of even wealthy indi- 
viduals, might be provided by the Society 
on reasonable mortgage, or furnished on loan 
at moderate charges. 

4. The Society might also apply itself to 
obtaining information as to prices and mar- 
kets, and to promoting measures for facili- 
tating communications. 

5. Lastly, to stimulate exertion, it would 
well be within the grasp of so powerful a 
Society as I should hope to see formed to 
hold, at first porhaxw in Europe, exhibi- 
tions of the agricultural and other pro- 
ductions of the Holy Land, and to offer 
handsome prizes for the best results of 
enterprise 

Sir Moses Montefiore, at the time 
Colonel Gawler submitted this 
scheme to him, occupied the post 
of President of the London Com- 
mittee of Deputies — or Board of 
Deputies — of British Jews. The 
venerable Baronet referred the 
Colonel's plan to the Board over 
which he presided, for it should 
be understood that this institu- 



tion generally superintended the 
distribution of relief to the Jews 
of Jerusalem, and had m^tde the 
amelioration of the condition of the 
Jews of the Holy Land a special 
study. After serious and lengthy 
deliberations the Board of Deputies 
decided that Colonel Gawler's 
scheme was of too vast a character, 
and could not be acted upon with 
the slightest chance of success. 

In the meantime Sir Mofies 
Montefiore had not been idle. He 
had addressed letters to the repre- 
sentatives of the various congrega- 
tions scattered throughout Pales- 
tine, asking them to suggest what 
they thought the best mode of 
ameliorating the condition of the 
people around them. 'Be strong 
and of good courage,' wrot^ tiie 
venerable philanthropist ; ' send 
speedily a reply to him who holds 
you in great esteem, and prays for 
the welfare of his people.' Aix>at 
thirty-five years ago Sir Moses 
Montefiore had made a similar re- 
quest to the ohie& of the Pales- 
tinian Jewish congregations, and 
received full information in accord- 
ance therewith ; but unfortunately 
not much success resulted £rom tlw 
publicity which he gave to the par- 
ticulars with which he had been 
furnished. 

At the present moment the replies 
given to Sir Moses' latest enquiries 
as to the condition of Palestine 
will be deemed of considerable im- 
portance. The Jewish authorities at 
Jerusalem declare that their people 
prefer mechanical work and busi- 
ness pursuits to agricultural labour, 
and they state that the want qf 
capital and the exorbitant rates of 
interest preclude the Israelites of 
Jerusalem from engaging in busi- 
ness with any success. They think 
that if * some friends of Israel ' were 
to lend them capital at the rate of 
five per cent., they could improve 
their condition to such an extent 
as to be able to maintain them- 



1875] 



Tlie Cmidition of Palestine. 



125 



selves, and ultimately repay the 
money borrowed. If this plan conld 
be carried out properly, we see not 
the slightest objection to it. The 
question is, will those who could 
advance the capital be satisfied with 
the security? There can be no 
doubt that the Jews of Jerusalem, 
in common with their co-religionists 
living in all parts of the globe, are 
thoronghly adapted for business pur- 
suits, for even with their very narrow 
resources they have been in the habit 
of importing goods from Leipzig, 
Trieste, Vienna, Paris, and London ; 
but their exertions to provide their 
own livelihoods are counteracted 
by the heavy rates and interest 
imposed upon the capital they are 
compelled to borrow. One letter 
from Jerusalem is well worth atten- 
tion, and, no doubt, thoroughly re- 
presents the feelings of most of the 
inhabitants. The following valu- 
able suggestions are contained in 
it:— 

1. Procure a plot of land in the vicinity 
of Jerusalem, allotting to each person a 
portion thereof large enough in proportion 
to his ability to till it and preserve it on 
condition that it shall be his and his de- 
scendants' for ever, but he shall never have 
power to dispose of it. Knowing that the 
plot of land, as well as the seed therein, 
belong to him, he would exert himself to 
improve the land, just as the Wiirtemberg 
people did in this country, when they be- 
came aware that the land they cultivated 
might be considered as their own. 

2. Provide us with oxen, as likewise all 
necessary implements and machinery re- 
quired for agriculture. 

3. Encourage us to build dwellings for 
oimselves, allowing us for the first two or 
three years an annual allowance, so that we 
may be able to give our entire time and at- 
tention to the ultimate success of your 
institutions. Relief similar to this, we 
observe, has been bestowed upon our non- 
Israelitish neighbours by their benefactors. 

As may be seen from the following 
ligt, a considerable amount of land 
in and about Jerusalem is ready to 
be disposed of by the owners . Most 
of the places mentioned are situated 
on the road between Jerusalem, 
Bamla, and Jaffa : 



Lot Measures 

1. ' Daran,' containing . 8,ooo_DAnam8. 

2. *Djeeraz,' „ . 2,800 

3. ' Vad-el-Farosh,' con- 
taining . 



»> 



4. 

5- 
6. 

7. 



' 700 


>> 


100 


>» 


40 


>» 


L 42 


»> 


25 


>> • 


8,500 


«> 


15 


>» 


10 


»> 


25 


>> 


2«;,4S7Mnam8. 



Plots of Ground 
near to Vad-el- 
Farosh, contain-" 
ing . . 

8. *Ard - el - Hamayet,' 

containing 

9. *A large garden of 

Lemons,' &c., con- 
taining . 

10. *Ras Manam,* con- 
taining . 

II.* Vad-el-liraoon, 'con- 
taining . 

12. *RasVad-el-limoon,' 
containing 



Each Dunam measures t,6oo square cu- 
bits, so that the whole of the land above 
represents 40,731,200 square cubits. A 
D&nam in Constantinople is equal to fo^rty 
square feet. 

From Safet, Tiberias, and C^'ifia 
communications were received 
expressing the willingness of the 
inhabitants to engage in any kind 
of agricultural or mechanical labour, 
at the same time bearing witness to 
the fertility of the soil. The way 
in which the correspondents of Sir 
Moses address him is most respect- 
ful ; they apply to him such designa- 
tions as the ' Righteous Prince ' and 
the * Glorious Crown of Israel.' 

During the summer of last year a 
course was unexpectedly opened up 
to the London Committee of the De- 
puties of British Jews. Sir Moses 
had been a member of that institution 
for upwards of fifty years, and had 
been president for a very long 
period. It should be understood 
that the functions of this corpora- 
tion — which comprises about forty 
gentlemen representing the most 
important Hebrew congregations in 
the United Kingdom — consist in 
watching over the interests of the 
Jews of England, * and delibera^iing 
on what may conduce to their 
welfare and improve their general 
condition,' and of taking action in 



12G 



Tha CundUini t'f Valtstine, 



[Jnlv 



favour of Jewish coramnnities or 
individuals in foreign countries, in 
cases of wronpr, or misfortune, or 
oppression. This latter function is 
the more important, and there is no 
doubt that the Jews in various 
parts of the Continent owe their 
immunity from danger in many 
cases to the timelv intervention of 
the Jewish Board of Deputies. The 
great influence possessed by Sir 
Moses !Montefiore with the English 
Ministry, whether Liberal or Con- 
servative, gave the Board a promi- 
nent position : and it was not a 
matter of surprise, therefore, that, 
when Sir Moses Montefiore tendered 
his resignation of the presidentship, 
its members should have been 
exceedingly desirous of perpetuating 
the many charitable achievements 
of the venerable and distinguished 
Baronet who had often journeyed to 
Russia, Rx)umania, Turkey, Rome, 
and Morocco on behalf of the race of 
which he is so remarkable a mem- 
ber. The Jews are essentially a cha- 
ritable people, and are actuated by 
a sort of brotherly feeling, very 
rare in these practical days, which 
prompts them to suffer in the suffer- 
ings of their distressed brethren. 
The troubles of the Jews of Rou- 
mania are the troubles of the Jews 
of England; so thoroughly is the 
sentiment of fraternity developed 
amongst them. But we doubt 
whether since the time of the de- 
struction of Jerusalem there has 
arisen a Jew — or, indeed, a member 
of any other creed — whose philan- 
thropy can vie with that of the 
gentleman who, at the age of four- 
score and ten years, leaves the com- 
forts and pleasures of home in 
order to bring glad tidings to his 
suffering brethren in a diste.nt land. 
It is easy for a man of Sir Moses 
Montefiore's means to dispense his 
largesse with a liberal hand, but to 
devote the whole of one's physical 
and mental energies to the benefit 
of suffering humanity is a much 
higher achievement. The spirit of 



that great, good man must pass 
away into eternity, but his glorious 
deeds will live and fructify on 
the earth. It is no wonder, then, 
that the Jews of England shonld 
have been delighted to unite with 
the Jewish Board of Deputies to 
offer Sir Moses Montefiore some 
substantial token of their regard. 
The cry was also taken up by the 
Israelites of France, G^e^many, Hol- 
land, Australia, and America. Sir 
Moses Montefiore is not of England 
only, but of the whole world. A 
testimonial committee was speedily 
formed, and the gentlemen com- 
posing it waited upon Sir Moses to 
enquire of him the form he would 
desire the projected testimonial to 
assume. The venerable champion 
of the oppressed replied in a most 
characteristic manner, and those 
who are acquainted with the ideas 
which have guided him through 
life cannot be astonished that he 
should have selected Jerusalem, the 
city of his heart, as the place in 
which the proposed memorial shonld 
assume form and existence. He 
suggested that, if they were d^ 
sirous of handing down his name to 
posterity, nothing could give^him 
greater pleasure than to witness the 
systematic promotion in Jerusalem 
of agricultural and mechanical oc- 
cupations by means of a permanent 
association, with a view to effect an 
improvement in the wretched state 
of its Jewish inhabitants. He im- 
pressed upon the testimonial com- 
mittee the importance of tendering 
assistance only to those people who 
were willing to assist themselveSi 
and of avoiding to encourage fiuv ■ 
ther destitution by any species oi 
almsgiving. 

Sir Moses' suggestion was received 
by the committee with a certain 
amount of enthusiasm, and they 
began immediately to cany it into 
execution, under considerable diffi- 
culties. A widespread notion existed 
that the Jews of Jemsalem were 
unwilling to work for their bread 






! 
J 



The Condition of Palestine. 



127 



haritable people were to 
eady to provide them 
^cessaries of life. The 
18 who had regularly 
ands for the Palestinian 
)mplained of their nn- 

work, and stigmatised 
eing content to live 
arity of their wealthier 
\t was said that, instead 
heir attention to honest 
sy were content to shut 
ip in the synagogues to 
•ray, and to eat the food 

benevolent co-religion- 
i. These accusations 
Temsalemites, not with- 
)imdation, but far from 
; the whole truth, have 
any Jews in this coun- 
i from adding their quota 
loses Montefiore Testi- 
d ; and this despite the 
communications from 
nts of all parts of Pales- 
3h the writers actually 
y, beg for work. It is 
t the Jews of Jerusalem 
•e the idle and good-for- 
eibonds that their detrac- 
hem out to be. Pharaoh 

the children of Israel 
icks, but gave them no 
« are many Jews of to- 
3 to work, but without 
f beginning to do so. In 
ndicate their character, 
LOW his co-religionists. 
Is convinced he can, 
dk of those poor people 

1 the Holy City and its 
re not the flock of 
p that they are painted, 

Montefiore, weak and 
1 years, has departed 
I from these shores to 
3rsonal investigation of 
matter. If Palestine is 
o become again the fruit- 
it once was, the scheme 
In hand may do much to 
that end. 

[lowing facts, collected 
onsnlar reports, will be 

—HO. LXYII. NEW SERIES. 



interesting at the present mo- 
ment. In Jerusalem the prin- 
cipal imports from the United 
Kingdom are cotton goods, and in 
the year 1873 there were imported 
five hundred and fifty to six hun- 
dred bales, of the aggregate value 
of 22,oooZ. to 24,oooZ. From Aus- 
tria and Germany woollen and silk 
manufactures, hard and glass ware, 
timber and fancy goods were sent 
to the amount of 30,000^.; and from 
France, woollen and silk manufac- 
tures, sugar and colonials, hard- 
ware, leather, wine and spirits, (with 
rice from Gtenoa,)to the valueof about 
30,000?. It should be understood 
that these imports were not for 
Jerusalem only, but also for the 
neighbouring towns and villages 
and Bedouin tribes. The exports 
consisted of olive oil, grain, and 
sesame seed. The staple produce 
of Jerusalem is olive oil and cereals, 
of which the principal kinds are 
wheat, barley, sesame, and maize, 
raised in rather considerable quan- 
tities. Cotton |k grown in the 
Nablus district^uid the estimated 
annual yield is 600,000 to 700,000 
okes (the oke equals 2|lbs). The 
cotton is raised from native seed ; 
it is of an inferior quality, and most 
of it is exported to Marseilles. 
Consul Moore says: ' No well- 
directed or sustained effort on the 
part of the Government has been 
made to promote the cultivation of 
cotton. It is believed that in many 
parts of the country cotton might 
be successfully and extensively 
grown, were good seed and proper 
instructions and implements given 
to the peasantry.' These words of 
Mr. Moore are worth bearing in 
mind. The population of Jerusalem 
is estimated at 21,000, of whom 
5,000 are Moslems, 5,500 Christians 
of various denominations, mostly of 
the Ghreek Church, 10,000 Jews, and 
about 500 Europeans (not Jews), 
mostly German. * During the last 
two years,' says Mr. Moore, * the 
Jewish population has considerably 



128 



The Condition of Palestine, 



[Jnly 



increased, probably to iihe extent of 
2,000, by constant arrivals, princi- 
pally of Polish and Russian Jews.' 

The report of Vice-Consul Jago 
stated that the agricultural produce 
of Syria was far less than might be 
expected from its fertility and 
climate. The peculiar and physical 
features of the country, combining 
within a comparatively small limit 
low lands, plateaux, mountains, and 
valleys, presenting every variety of 
climate, from the almost tropical 
temperature of the coast line to 
the temperate clime of the t-able- 
lands, admirably adapt it for the 
cultivation of most of the products 
of the earth. 

If these reports are to be trusted 
— and we have every confidence in 
their veracity — ^we see no reason 
why the Jews of England and of 
the whole world should refrain 



from assisting their wretched co- 
religionists to cultivate a land which 
is certain, if properly handled, to 
yield a produce such as once de- 
lighted the Israelites in the days 
when the Temple reared its proud 
head in the Holy Ciiy. All Jews 
daily pray for the restoration of 
their country ; and it is to be hoped 
that the love which they express 
in words for that land which was 
the pride of their ancestors, will be 
demonstrated in a substantial man- 
ner. When he has the oppor- 
tunity of at once doing honour to a 
man of the character of Sir Moses 
Montefiore, and of participatiDg in 
a thoroughly good work, one cannot 
see how any consistent Jew cut 
refuse to contribute his sbaro to- 
wards the Montefiore Testimoniil 
Fund. 

AdOLPHUS BOSENBEB6. 



t 




1875] 



129 



TO THE EDITOR OF ' FRASER'S MAGAZINE/ 



14 Staflford Street, Edinburgh, jVlay x8, 1875. 

iSlb, — Mj altention has been recently drawn to an article in your Magazine for January 
last on the late Sir Charles Bell, which contains a repetition of a series of mis* 
representations in regard to him and his relations, which have appeared in other joumalsi 
and hare been again and again refuted. 

It is stated that ' the father of Charles Bell was not so well off even as Goldsmith's 

curate, passing rich with forty pounds a year. The income of the Rer. William Ball 

was twsn^-five pounds per annum. He was obliged to withdraw a son firom school 

beeaoie he could not afford five shillings a quarter fbr his schooling.' This is an utterly 

Tmfoonded statement. When Mr. Bell commenced his duties as a clergyman at Bonne, 

it is true that the stipend from the church was only twenty-five poun(&, but his circum- 

itances were such as enabled him to associate with the best of society, and to marry Miss 

Grahame of Bowquaple, the daughter of one of the oldest and most aristocratic fiunilies 

in Stirlingshire — an event not very likely to have taken place had he been the poor and 

inBgnxfieant person he is represented to have been. Some time after this he left Bonne, 

much to the regret of his congregation, and he became colleague to Bishop Keith, 

neaving half the income of the church in Edinburgh, where he ofBciated as clergyman 

for thir^-five years, living like a gentleman and enjoying the best society. His first 

viie died, leaving no family, and after remaining seven years a widower he married Miss 

Xarrice, daughter of the episcopal clercyman in St. AndreVs, and granddaughter of 

Bishop White, Primus of Scotland, who was not a person to be so contemptuously 

nfened {0 as 'the poor lady depending on the charity of her kinsfolk and friends.* So 

from being * obliged to withdraw a son from school because he could not afford five 

shillings a quarter for his schooling,' Mr. Bell saved money, and bought several houses 

in Edinburgh ; and in reference to one of these purchases he remarks in his diary, which 

is nov before me, 'Whits, wo removed to a small house and garden at Fountainbridge, 

near town, for the benefit of the children . This purchase also [see mem. book] with Uie 

other house, rents in town, some money upon bond, I trust in GckI (whose good providence 

hu enabled us to do so much), will be a moderate competency £|toiy wife ana diildren, 

■honld I be taken from them, and they become no burden to ^B^*' In addition to 

thue purchases he paid an apprentice foe of 90/. for his eldestVn, and one of 50/. for 

lui ncood son. These fS&cts certainly do not bear out the assertion of his inability to 

psy for his son's education. 

The statement that all the education which Sir Charles Bell 'really had was derived 
&Qm his mother ' is equally fallacious, and if he ever made it, unless he referred to 
his religious instruction, he must have been in jest, as he attended a school at 
lisnahagow, and the High School of Edinburgh, one of the most celebrated institutions 
JQ the world. He had besides advantages which seldom fall to the lot of young men 
b having the example and guidance of his elder brothers, who were celebrated for their 
attainments. He fully appreciated these advantages, as he stated 'people prate about 
location, and put out of sight example, which is all in all.' 

The statement that John especially took on him all a father's duties is entirely 

^nooeous. He was only eighteen when his father died, and he did not enter on the 

pnctice of his profession for some yean after, as, after passing surgeon, he travelled 

Uk lome time in Kussia and the North of Europe ; consequently he had no opportunity 

^ performing the duties referred to, even had he been inclined to do so. But he had 

*o eall to do so, as the eldest son, Robert, was loft trustee by his father's will, and he 

devoted himself most wannly to promote the comfort of his mother and the advance- 

^f^ of his brothers' interests, and that he did so most successfully is amply proved by 

^ great eminence they attained at an early age in their different professions. John be- 

*^ the first surgeon in Scotland and the most eloquent lecturer of his time. He was 

^ accomplished classical scholar, extensively acquainted with ancient and modem 

°^tire, an artist of great skill and taste ; and nis remarks and criticisms in his 

'^*>rv&tionB on Italy nilly illustrate his extensive knowledge and judgment in such 

^*|t^. George Joseph was only nine years of age when his father died. He was 

*^icited for the Bar under the especial superintendence of his eldest brother, and he 

**^ on the practice of his profession at the age of twenty-one, and soon became 

^iaeot as a lawyer, leaving behind him his undying work the Commentaries on the 

*^of Scotland. C^iarles, who was only five years of age at his father's death, was 

^)«i it a very early age to assist his brother John in his lectures, and when he left 

%bQigfa he had a dm of ninety students, although opposed by the celebrated 



130 [July 187. 

I)r. Barclay. He was also at that time author of several standard works. Snrel; 
these circumstances do not indicate that Sir Charles Bell was a lad of d< 
education, or one who obtained all his preliminary instructions from his mother ' 
On the contrary, they prove that my excellent father had performed his datie 
as trustee most admirably, and he was well qualified to do so from his talents and giea 
acquirements. He was an excellent Latin scholar and mathematician. He had tw. 
much, and he had a fine taste and admirable execution as an artist, of which he has lef 
many pleasing examples. He commenced life as a writer to the Signet, but afterwardi 
became an advocate at the Scotch Bar. Ho was the author of the Dictionary of the Latt 
qf Scotland, besides several other standard works. Ho established the class of ConTey 
ancing in the Edinburgh University, and was the first professor, and he was looked u] 
to as a convevancer of high authority. He also originated the office of Auditor of Cour 
of Session, wnich has been of great advantage to litigants. 

The observation that * it is hardly likely the Bells were ever driven to labour vitl 
their hands ' is totaUy unjustifiable. The family of Bells never were mechanics, and ha 
the author taken the trouble to enquire, he would have ascertained that they have mad 
themselyes conspicuous in almost every profession during the last two hundred jean 
When they ceased to be landed proprietors, having been disinherited and deprived o 
their estate of Blacket House in Dumfriesshire by Cromwell on account of their sup 
porting Charles L, they went to Glasgow, and became extensive merchants, vhid 
led to several of them being knighted, as the records of Glaagowshire and burges 
tickets still in our family amply prove. The family then became remarkable from th 
number of eminent clergymen it supplied to the Church, and more recently it has becom 
celebrated from the men of talent it has given to the professions of law and physic 

I hope you will excuse this long detail, as I think, if the memoirs of an individual sr 
worth publishing, they ought to be correct, and free from any kind of misrepreeentatioii 

I am, Sir, yours^faithfully,^ 

CHAKLES BELL, M.D., F.R.C.P., &c. 



t 




FRASER'S MAGAZINE. 



AUGUST 1875. 



BLUEJACKETS AND MARINES OP THE ROYAL NAVY. 

By a Naval Officer. 



no class in this conntiy has 
k greater change taken place 
ig the last thirty years than 
lat of which we are about to 
The men have altered en- 
% leaving but very little of 
was then seen in their charac- 
We do not intend to say they 
altered more than those of 
classes in their walk of life ; 
bey have not been behind them, 
in mind, feelings, and inclina- 
are quite on a par with the 
> in which they live. The Blue- 
ts and Marines of to-day take 
iterest in the various social 
ions that are under discussion ; 
ons, and not unfounded ones 
r, may be heard on the lower 
of a man-of-war both for and 
st Manhood Suffrage, Mar- 
with a Deceased Wife's 
r, the Masters and Servants 
and the Merchant Shipping 
Sir Wilfiid Lawson has a 
)f followers. In the Claimant 
believe, and as a result ad- 
the honourable Member for 
>-upon-Trent. The daily papers 
jad with avidity ; the politics 
low as a rule are Conservative 
ory, but Liberal, indeed almost 
jal,in their concrete utterances. 
r man can read and write, and 
lumerous letters that leave a 
by the different mails show 
;hose at home are not forgot- 

.. XIT. — NO. LXVIII. NEW SBBIES. 



In the performance of duty there 
is a general average ; all are much 
alike. In their behaviour, with the 
exception of the young men passing 
through the three years of their 
lives from nineteen to twenty-two, 
all are about the same, and the 
standard is good. Drunkenness is 
not prevalent, sobriety the rule ; in 
fact, a steady level of uniformity is 
found amongst them. The men 
have few salient points; knowing 
one man, you pretty well know all his 
comrades, or rather you know all 
that the men intend you to know ; 
the points of individual character 
belong to themselves they consider ; 
and they aim at and attain almost 
a dead level in their public life. 
Many causes bring this about, which 
we hope to show hereafter; and 
very different were the men thirty 
years ago. 

A generation back we saw the 
remains of the seamen and marines 
of the old War, for the men then 
had been brought up under the old 
War-dogs that cleared the sea of 
all intruders, and gave this country 
a place on that element which has 
lasted until now, and has helped the 
commerce of our country steadily 
to increase to its present vast dimen- 
sions. Do those who see our docks 
lined with ships and merchandise, 
our manufactured articles sent over 
the sea to all parts of the world, ever 
give a thongnt to the men whose 

L 



132 



The Bluejackets and Marines of the Royal Navy, 



deeds lefb that sea clear? May 
their grandchildren keep it open ! 
for if not, all is over with Eng- 
land. 

The seamen and marines of thirty 
years ago came quite up to the 
descriptions In Marryat's novels. 
Few could read or write ; a man 
able to do so then was soon known 
to everyone as * a noble scholar — can 
read and write beautiful, sir * (how 
often we have heard the eulogy!) 
and the * noble scholar ' in question 
read and answered the letters of the 
whole mess, and perhaps the one 
next his own, and was very often a 
rather dissipated character, finding 
himself often in trouble. A portion 
of the men then were the most lov- 
able, the grandest, finest, biggest, 
most warm-hearted grown-up child- 
ren that could be found in the 
world. One-third perhaps of every 
ship's company were of this class, 
another third were of a negative 
order, and the remaining third were 
simply worthless. With the first set 
you could do anything. You might 
scourge them when they behaved 
badly, it did them no more moral 
harm than a whipping does a child ; 
their feelings could be worked on 
until they would cry, yet their cou- 
rage and endurance were without 
limit. Sea-dogs they were ; se- 
verely treated, they loved the hand 
that so treated them . They feared n o- 
thing, literally nothing ; fear was a 
word they did not know. One who 
would lead them they would follow 
to the death. When out of a ship and 
nnder no restraint, they were quite 
helpless, spending what money they 
had and getting afloat again the 
first opportunity. 

In all our recollections of seamen 
«nd marines, the most interesting 
are those of men directly connected 
with the old War. * Eighteen Hun- 
dred and War time ' meant some- 
thing then. Those who spoke of it 
had the old War tales from direct 
sources, and in the seaports and at 



Greenwich the old War sa 
to be met daily. 

The second class in a m 
then was of a negative or 
passed muster, did as mai 
men, and that was all ; 
third class was a distinct 
kept in order by the fej 
lash, unable to do a seam 
in any way, not * worth th 
a ship * (a saying aptly i 
them), making it a bad i 
at all treated humanely, 
well cowed, only not prevc 
ship from being good. Th 
classes caused things to be 
are not seen now-a-days. 
were any particular fitting 
the boatswain would be 
as to who should do it ; if 
piece of work, he would b 
the choice of the best men ii 
and then he and his pic 
had a regular good time o 
selection making everyone 
it their duty to make mucl 
A vivid recollection er< 
mind of the boatswain s 
twenty men having a pr 
ship appropriated to their 
a peculiar splice in a b 
they carefully took some d 
it, and in those days the i 
tobacco that was chewed t 
drunk would have killed 
seasoned vessels. Now-j 
there is anything to be < 
never made particular; 
who happen to be on du 
day are set about it as a 
course, and it is done. Tl 
average in every way is be 
high standard of the sai 
and simple, of the old love 
is gone, and at the sam( 
also gone the unmistakeal 
guard that used to be fou: 
lower decks of our ships. 

The negative class ma^ 
but it is of a better orde 
negative from different cat 
training of boys and men, 
them all that appertains 



The Bliiejackets and Marines of the Royal Navy, 



133 



e, has brought aboat the 
erage of to-day. Thirty 

nobody was ever taught 
the boys learnt as best 
i; if bright, they were 
stupid, cuJSed, and there 
Now we certainly do 
Bach our lads and boys 
squired ; and to one who 
ind anxious to learn there 
unities which enable him 
he high standard neces- 
\ business. 

the sailor and * Joe ' the 
ly almost be called house- 
Is, so generally are they 
the men in blue and in red 

to the Royal Navy ; but 
the terms is satisfactory to 
of those who have a know- 
the men in their exact 
al personality in this year 
1875. When people read 

or * jolly Jack tar,' they 
heir minds a fancy per- 
jry unUke the real man. 
aveys no particular cha- 
!, and was perhaps merely 
3 run side by side with 
\ the two men run side by 
3, and often lie side by side 
The word * Jack * suggests, 
e, a sort of compound of 
eamen, with their pockets 
loubloons, * William ' in 
\d Siisan, Cooper's ' Long 
in,* Nelson's ' Coxswain,' 
raditionally supposed to 
red to drink in turn all 
proposed for his choice ; 
jr distinguished by a care- 
f money and recklessness 
th a good deal of powerful 
But this picture is far 
g a close likeness of the 
m we know so well, and 
to speak of. 

<sket ' is the term given to 
m in the Royal Navy who 

serge uniform frock, in 
1 to the Marines, who, 
iiers for service at sea, 
blue and red cloth of the 



British Army. What is the real 
character of the Bluejacket as he 
exists in Her Majesty's Navy p 
* Jack' is an imagination, but the 
Bluejacket is a reality ; and taking 
a good average type, a man of 
twenty- six years of age, we find as 
a rule he is very steady, well-be- 
haved, rather reserved, cleanly and 
sober, abominably conceited, per- 
sonally vain to a degree; thinks 
he can do anything, because he is 
obliged to have a smattering of so 
many things ; he is, however, civil 
speaking, and has very good man- 
ners ; he is carefxil, very careful, of 
his money, no one more so; gene- 
rally married, and proud of his 
home and children ; he looks at his 
life seriously, feels that he has to 
improve it on all opportunities and 
to fight through bravely ; but he is 
very much inclined to be an eye- 
servant, for those above him have 
so much power over his present 
and future that he is naturally apt 
to look to them personally for ap» 
proval, instead of doing his duty 
in a straightforward manner ; he 
is not very hard working, but still 
a wonderful amount of work can be 
got out of him. Taking him alto- 
gether, made as he is by the service 
itself — for he commences in boy- 
hood — he is a very fair specimen of 
the ge^ms Homo. 

The Marine, being enlisted a& 
other soldiers are, commences his 
sea life as an adult, presumably 
with some sort of character formed. 
Before he goes to sea he perhaps 
spends a couple of years in barracks, 
where he leads a purely soldier's 
Ufe in a ga^son town, getting only 
a glimpse of ship life from the 
stories he hears in his barrack- 
room, so that when he does embark 
for service afloat, he takes with 
him his own personality phis the 
influence of the barrack-room, and 
has to adapt himself as best he may 
to a new state of being; for, with 
the exception of going aloft and 



184 



The Bluejackets and Marines of the Royal Navy, [i 



the daily pulling in boats, his life 
is the same as that of the Blue- 
jacket. The result is, to make him 
really half soldier and half sailor. 
He has all the soldier's stolidity, 
bnt gains a handiness and an ease 
of manners which make him dis- 
tinctively a Marine, proud of the 
motto, fer Mare per Terram. He 
is perhaps not so well behaved 
afloat as he is on shore, losing some 
of that military smartness for which 
his corps is eminently distinguished 
on terra-firma ; but, like the Blue- 
jacket, he is careful of his money, 
and generally takes on shore again 
a very fair sum. There is nothing 
antagonistic now between the two 
bodies of men ; that which presses 
on the one equally presses on the 
other, and their feelings are very 
much in common. 

A Bluejacket, taken as a boy and 
sent to a training-ship where he is 
taught what will be wanted in his 
ftiture life, and afterwards drafted 
into a sea-going ship, finds it much 
the same as the ship he has lefl.; 
and, commencing so young, to a 
ceriAin degree loses his own iden- 
tity ; for at this malleable age, re- 
ceiving the impress of things around 
him, he comes to have the same 
feelings and ideas on most points 
as the men with whom he is mixing 
daily, and this causes all Blue- 
jackets in the service now-a-days 
to be so much alike. 

Our readers are not to suppose 
ihat should they visit one of our 
large seaport towns everyone they 
see dressed in the blue uniform of 
the navy is a sailor. All Bluejackets 
4ure not sailors, nor are they in- 
tended to be sailors ; and the crew of 
A man-of-war is divided into various 
groupings, each with different work 
to do, but all helping to, keep that 
floating village, a man-of-war, in 
order and fit for the service of the 
Crown. 

First, there are the two main 
distinctions. Bluejackets and Ma- 



rines : and the Marines are ( 
into Royal Marine Artillei 
Royal Marine Light 'Infant] 
former wearing a blue a 
dress, and the latter the red 
line. The Bluejackets have 
ever, any number of divisions 
of all, may be put on one s 
Stokers — the name speaks fo 
they are the men who have 
of all appertaining to the ( 
room ; then there is a body 
known as the * Idlers,* and 5 
to say still further divide 
* working idlers ' (of all odd 
and * excused idlers.* The 
are brought about in this m 
the Bluejackets proper, if v; 
call them so, or Sailors, keep 
always, day and night, at si 
in harbour, four hours rea 
duty as the * watch on deals 
hours off duty as the * watch 1 
in harbour of course at nigh 
is nothing to do, but still the 1 
goes on, and if a watch is \^ 
there is a proper one to c 
sea the men are actually cl 
day and night. But the * 
although belonging to the \^ 
if called specially, otherwis 
no notice of them. The * w 
idlers * are the artisans of a 
of- war, the carpenters, blacki 
armourers, tinsmiths, ci 
caulkers, and painters, who, 
ing all day at their different 
from half-past seven in the ra 
until half-past four in the aftc 
are not disturbed at other 
except on an emergency, 
other morning the working 
of the watch then on deck 
to clean the ship, by pumpi 
water wanted for the sen 
and they also assist to cleai 
messes every other day. 
there is work on deck wii 
sails that takes * all hands,' 
man. Bluejacket and Marine 
go up and pull on the rope 
the idlers are not as a rul 
aloft, like the other Bluejacket 



TJ^ Bluejackets and Mao'ines of the Royal Navy, 



135 



^gned to them in action 
K»x)rding to their trade, the 
ers, iSx;., looking after the 
and seeing to the preven- 
tr fire, the remainder work- 
he shell rooms and powder 
les. 

excused idlers ' do not wear 
form serge frock, &c., but 
>th clothes, a round jacket, 
its and shirts ; they are the 
tewards, cooks, servants, and 
en ; these men are stationed 
n to pass the powder, and 
ed 'excused,* because they 
npted from pulling on ropes 
nrork on deck. In a playful 
ley are also called ' dry 

ow come to the Bluejackets 

who are divided again 
ig to 'parts of the ship;' 
e ' Forecastlemen,* who hav- 
jrge of the forecastle, work 
Is on the bowsprit, jib 
ind fore yard, the fore 
md bowsprit, with the 

thereto belonging ; then 
re the * Foretopmen,* who, 
I the forecastlemen in the 
rt of the ship, have charge 
thing that is above the fore- 
eaving the fore end of the 
come to the main mast, and 
id ' Maintopmen ' in charge 
jrthing above the maintop, 
[uarterdeckmen^' with the 
d, main mast, and rigging 

charge; and at the after 
be ship we find the ' Mizen. 
' in charge of' the mizen 
d all that appertains to it. 
rking idlers, stokers, and 

a^re also included under 
i the ship : ' they are divided 
nr9 ' and ' After parts,* the 
'king by the fore mast, and 
r aft on the quarter deck ; 
g' in this sense is meant 
' the ship, that is altering 
Is and saUa as necessary for 
yem- of ^e ship at sea. 
ttuejaokets, it will be seen, 



are divided into many different sec- 
tions ; the artizans are always arti- 
zans, and are nearly the same as 
their brethren on shore. Going to 
sea as adults, they vary. Those 
who like the life, are man-of- wars- 
men in feeling ; those who do not 
like it, never become at home in the 
ship. It is the same with the ser- 
vants. The stokers, however, mostly 
have commenced as boys, and taken 
up that line. But the Bluejacket 
proper, who enters as a boy and 
devotes his life willingly to service 
in the Boyal Navy, is a thorough 
man-of- warsman. As such what a 
variety of things there are to which 
it is expected he should be able to 
turn bis hand ! We wonder whether 
our readers have any notion of the 
number of avocations a man should 
be handy in to be able to do every 
duty that may be required of a 
Bluejacket in a man-of-war. 

A Bluejacket should, first of all, 
be a good sailor, one who can 
' hand, reef, and steer;* that is, he 
can hand or furl a sail, which is 
rolling it up properly on the yards 
at sea ; he can reef a sail, which is 
making it smaller when necessary 
from increasing wind by the taking 
in of what is called ' reefs ;' and he 
can steer a ship with tiller or wheel, 
knowing the compass. He must be 
a fair rigger as well, knowing how 
to put together and prepare all the 
different parts of the rigging of a 
ship; he must be able to pull or sail 
a boat ; he must be able to heave the 
lead to ascertain the depth of water 
as the ship moves, and in doing all 
these things he must be active and 
quick. But there is more besides : 
he should be a gunner, and a sea- 
man-gunner first of all, able to take 
any place in handling and working 
a large and heavy gun in a ship dk 
sea under all circumstances, and 
than some of the man-of-warsmen 
of to-day we believe, there are no 
finer gunners to be found. What- 
ever may be wanted to be done 



136 



The Bluejackets cmd Maririea of the Royal Navy. [ 



with a gnn we will back ibem to do 
it. A Blaejacket should be a sailor 
and a ganner, and still we have not 
finished. Besides these functions, in 
which he should be nnlU secundus, he 
ought to be a fair infantry soldier, 
able to take his place in a com- 
pany, and with that company in a 
battalion, and he should especially 
know how to skirmish. The sea- 
man-gunner quahties of a Blue- 
jacket shQuld enable him to take 
part in a field or rocket battery, 
bringing his field guns and rockets 
on shore with him, harnessing him- 
self into the drag- ropes, and taking 
those guns or rockets anywhere a 
man can go. A Bluejacket should 
be a fair swordsman, and he is taught 
sword drill with the sword-bayonet 
of his rifle. These points we have 
enumerated may be considered the 
aggressive qualifications ; and to 
them must be added the peaceful 
avocations, in each of which a Blue- 
jacket can be most useful when well 
up to his work. To give these 
peaceful or domestic labours their 
due, they must be put in the femi- 
nine, and we, therefore, say a Blue- 
jacket should be a first-rate * house- 
maid' and 'washerwoman,* for he 
has to scrub the decks, his mess- 
table, clean paint work, and polish 
wood and brass; to scrub, wash, 
wring, and mangle his clothes and 
the hammock in which he sleeps. 
To finish up his virtues, the more 
he knows of tailoring and sewing 
the better for himself; and any 
Buch little accomplishments as 
using a paint-pot, polishing, or carv- 
ing, are all gratefully accepted and 
fit in well. 

The Marine in the same way 
should be, first of all, a soldier in 
every sense of the term, and then a 
gunner, but he need not be quite so 
good a gunner as the Bluejacket ; 
he must also have the same peace- 
ful avocations, and any trade that 
he may have learnt before he en- 
listed is of value. 



But of the Bluejackets a 

rines in the Royal Navy, ho 

come up to the very high s 

required ? There are abou 

Bluejackets and 13,500 

allowed for in this year's Es 

These totals are somewh; 

those actually given, but ii 

numbers are correct. Fr 

number of Bluejackets prop 

be taken ofl* all the non-co: 

class, the men who do not 'v 

guns, stokers, artizans, s 

&c., &c., numbering sor 

about 10,500 men. We mi 

further take out all the yoi 

men, the lads, called * ordin 

men,' between the ages of ( 

and twenty-two or twent 

about 7,000, and this leav 

12,000 men. Of these 12,0 

perhaps 4,000 are seaman-j 

who have been thoroughly 

in the naval schools of gui 

Portsmouth and Plymouth ; 

may be added, perhaps, 

4,000, who having been tai 

gunnery instructors in tl 

they are serving, are called 

men,* making 8,000 men, ; 

haps half of the remainc 

reach the standard requirei 

leaves the Royal Navy of 

with, in round numbers 

10,000 trained sailors on 

can rely. These gone, we f( 

might be a difficulty ; in 

know they could not be act 

placed, and the work must 

if done at all, by a class of 

training and efficiency. 

Amongst the Marines, 
the Marine Artillery, nu 
about 2,800, almost as wel 
work the guns as the besi 
seamen. Of the Light Infau 
are about 10,700, of whi 
thirds may be taken as 
knowledge of gun drill t< 
trained seamen, giving ab< 
men. Adding all these 
together, it gives somethi 
20,000 trained fighting mei 



The Bluejackels and Marines of the "Royal Navy. 



137 



the Bojal Navj, and, we be- 
with these numbers we have 
n its best light, 
qaestion naturally arises, have 
ough trained fighting men, 
I men on whom we know we 
y ? There may be sufficient 
ships we now have compos- 
r Fleet ; therefore, the ques- 
►68 farther back, and becomes 
oncerning the number of 
1 our Fleet — have We enough? 
article, as we are confined to 
luejackets and Marines, we 
he question unanswered. 
)ectiug the Marines, we must 
jmark we conceive the Ma- 
rtillery to be too good for 
position in a ship as Marines. 
% grand corps it is those of 
iders who have visited South - 
I seen it can well testify ; but 
trained and taught as they 
J believe the money would be 

spent in training seamen, 
lat the gun-trainmg of the 
Infantry is nearly sufficient 
•vice in a man-of-war. In 
ation of this opinion, al- 
. each ship has a proportion 
,rine Artillery amongst the 
'8, they practically do the 
rork at the guns as the Light 
ry ; and, although an isolated 
[• two may be given to the 
ry, yet, when put as part of 
1*8 crew with Bluejackets, 
5S, to whatever branch they 
jlong, are equally placed in 
ordinate position. A gun's 
of Artillery will keep their 
nd carriage in better order 
k gun's crew of Bluejackets ; 
) have never known a case 

in rapidity of work and 
on of firing they could com- 
th a gun*s crew of Bluejackets, 
led of seaman-gunners, trained 
id lads. 

believe it is not only being 
id to know the many things 
re enumerated, but the man- 
which they are taught, that 



tends to produce the personal vanity 
and conceit we have mentioned as 
being found in the character of the 
Bluejackets of the Royal Navy; 
and that from the very first join- 
ing he is so treated aa to make 
him think of himself as a good 
deal better than anyone with whom 
he comes in contact. The train- 
ing system begins this: not that 
we wish for a moment there 
should not be ^ training-ships, for 
we know full well their value ; 
but in the training-ships the 
boys, who, having just left a per- 
haps not too comfortable home, find 
themselves looked after, fed, clothed, 
and treated in a way their wildest 
dreams never reached, soon learn to 
think themselves of importance, and, 
without reasoning it out, imagine 
that the Navy and the country cannot 
do without them. Then their appear- 
ance is so astonishingly improved ; 
the first time they go on leave they 
find numerous admirers, and they 
quit the training-ships as a rulewitn 
very good opinions of themselves, 
which the remainder of their teach- 
ing fully developes. When serving 
in a Ship of the Fleet — and by this 
term it is not meant necessarily a 
ship in a squadron ; all men-of-war 
are * Ships of the Fleet,* Ships of 
the Royal Fleet of Great Britain — 
all that we have shown as necessary 
for a man-of.warsman of to-day 
has to be taught — seamanship, 
gunnery, rifle, sword, company 
drill, &c. &c., but the teaching is 
perfunctory, and those taught have 
simply a smattering of the subjects. 
The Bluejacket finds it easy to 
pick up this smattering, which is 
all really that the time allowed can 
do for him, and therefore begins to 
have a still greater opinion of him- 
self; add to this, his being obliged 
to be very careful of his personal 
appearance, his seeing a well- 
dressed man sometimes get pre- 
ferment from that fact alone, and 
it may be seen how his personal 



138 



Tlis Bluejackets cmd Marines of the lioyal Navy. [l 



feelings are fostered and arrive 
at the pitch of vanity which we 
deprecate. We do not wish for one 
moment that our Bluejackets 
should lose their self-respect; no 
man can have too much of that, and 
the men who excel in all the quali- 
fications we have mentioned have 
invariably most self-respect, and 
but little vanity ; but it is amongst 
the mass we notice the conceit, and 
we remark it most in those who 
have less of the sailor in them, and 
but a smattering of the other points. 
As the sailor element increases in 
the man's character, so the vanity 
decreases. Why we lay such 
stress on it is because it brings 
out all the worst side of the men. 
It causes them to show off, play 
at eye-service, and, per contra^ 
become insubordinate; and, when 
out of the ship and amongst 
those not belonging to the service, 
swagger and talk bombastic non- 
sense. The Royal Navy has in 
itself a slang term for them — * Jack 
shilloo ; ' and a naval officer could 
readily tell to how many in his 
ship's company it applies. It may 
be said we make too much of this 
point, and give it an importance 
it does not deserve. But as we be- 
lieve it is a canker amongst our 
Bluejackets, making the mass of 
them satisfied with themselves and 
with a smattering of what they 
should know thoroughly, and dis- 
satisfied with their life in the Navy, 
we do hold it is of importance to 
notice it; and if there are any 
means that can check its growth, 
we should be happy to see them 
adopted. Three things appear on 
the face of the matter as likely to be 
beneficial if tried : first, let there be 
no pampering in the training-ships, 
where the impress is made ; second, 
have a thoroughness in all that is 
taught, without which nothing can 
be satisfactory ; third, an adjustment 
of pay. The first can commence at 
once. From this moment, if need 



be, a more Spartan school * 
established ; but the last t 
volve a money question, and 
we fail until we can find 
powerful leverage to work • 
nation. All that can be d* 
present is to put before our i 
what is done now in the mai 
teaching, give them the ] 
rates of pay, suggest the i 
for the evils we have show 
leave it to' them, if they ag 
assist in carrying out. 

There are five training- si 
various ports, each with an i 
ant brig. The boys are e 
from about fifteen years o 
and are bound to serve 
Koyal Navy for ten years, 
the age of eighteen to t 
eight. At first they are call 
as the term is put, ' rated * s 
class boys, and in about a yea 
are rated first-class boys, whe 
are sent to a particular trs 
ship, or, if needs be, draft 
service afloat. The boys : 
training-ships are first of all 
to be cleanly, are dressed in 
of-warsman's clothes, to 
which an allowance of 6L is g 
to them : their sailor teachiuj 
mences ; in classes they go t( 
ting and splicing, or the woi 
teaches them to be riggers 
have to go aloft, and are tau| 
handle the sails, slowly at fir 
quicker and quicker ; it is a 
gressive, being changed with 
and boat work. Thev have 
gun, rifle, and swoVd dril 
^ught how to wash and 
their clothes, and clean the 
and, above all, are taught fr( 
first manners, obedience, a; 
spect. Some of the boys ] 
part, and some a whole si 
cruising in a brig, five days a 
The boys in the training-shi 
well fed ; as they are growing, 
generous diet is allowed ; and 
by chance, one who has joine 
an inland village, returns ho; 



Ths Bluejackets and Marines of iJie JRoycd Navy. 



139 



le neighbours find him so 
d and good-looking that 

► very best recruiter tor the 
at can be got. 

programme is very perfect 
r, but it has its weak side 
ce ; the diet is rather pam- 
ind although it is economy 
growing boys who are to 
)u as men, well, and the 
►uld be good, we fear that 
s been passed and an in- 
! in the matter is growing. 
L the teaching, some boys 
ftve a cruise in the brigs, 
n are rated first-class boys, 

eighteen are rated as 

seamen, and sent to a 

lip at Portsmouth or Ply- 

¥^here being called * men,* 

ve not the wholesome re- 

> which they have just grown 
led ; can go on shore as 
m years older, and become 
perhaps ruined for life. 
ve actually now in our 

very many young seamen 
re never even been to sea, 
) from the fact of being 
dep6t ships are, strictly 
may be looked after, con- 
bad habits day by day, 
ill cause trouble to them- 
d a weakness to the service 
mgto. As we do not appear 
enough ships in which to 
966 lads to sea, and it is 
require the yearly entry of 
)U8and boys to complete the 
om all causes, and the ad- 
1 of a thorough teaching 
er be gainsaid, our opinion 
ve stop short in the right 
I of training we have already 
commenced, and that to 
it further we should pro- 
going training-ships for all 
for a couple of years after 
re the boys* training-ships ; 
[6 case in which money must 
t by the country, but the 
will get its money's worth 
. has all the lads in the 



Royal Navy sailors, of which at 
present it partially fails. You 
must go to sea to be a sailor : no 
teaching in harbour can make a 
sailor, no few days a week outside 
a port will make a sailor such as 
we want. The ability to be sailors 
some never have, but there are 
many branches in the Boyal 
NotVy to which they may turn 
and still do good work for 
their term of service. Those who 
have it in them to be sailors can 
only develope that genius on the 
sea ; and as a Bluejacket must be a 
sailor first as a foundation on which 
you can build all the rest that is 
required of him, and as the best 
sailors are the best at all else, we 
feel if the country can once realise 
the importance of making our 
Bluejackets sailors early in life, a 
development of the present training 
system must follow. There will be 
no lads knocking about the home 
ports, wanting to go to sea but 
unable to do so, losing daily all 
that has been taught them, picking 
up bad habits that bring them into 
disrepute, and at last when they 
find themselves in a sea-going ship, 
lazy, bumptious, and some even 
vicious, while a few, and but a few, 
remain good in spite of all they 
have gone through. 

In some cases, when necessity 
arises, boys go straight from the 
training-ships to sea-going ships as 
first-class boys, and they have a 
better chance ; but where they go 
straight to a sea-going ship without 
having been in the training-ships as 
second-class boys, the chances are 
much against their doing well. A 
boy wishing to enter the Royal Niavy, 
but who is over sixteen and a half, 
the extreme age at which he can be 
sent to a training-ship, is obliged to 
go to a first-class reserve ship, pf 
which there arenine round thecoasta; 
there from the nature of things he 
has not a chance : and if ourreaders 
but knew all that he is required to 



140 



The Bluejackets and Marines of the Royal Navy. [. 



do as if he conld have intuitiye 
knowledge, they would see how 
unhappy he mast be. As a result 
many desert, and few ever take to 
the service. We heard a naval 
officer the other day, one well 
posted on the subject, say, he 
believed the desertions from the 
Navy, of which we regret to hear 
there are nearly one hundred a 
month, were mainly from the boys 
BO entered, and that the younger a 
boy was entered, the less he was 
inclined to desert when grown up. 
What stronger argument can there 
be for getting boys young and care- 
ftilly making them sailors ? What 
happens to our boy runs very 
much through the whole life : all he 
is taught in a ship afloat is taught 
perfunctorily. The cleaning, the in- 
spection, the necessary work of 
refitting, coaling, provisioning, go- 
ing to sea and going into harbour ; 
at sea the working of the sails, in 
harbour the boat work, all make it 
impossible to teach more than a 
smattering of what our Bluejackets 
and Marines should know tho- 
roughly. Regular courses of in- 
struction are tried again and again ; 
admirals, captains, and officers do 
their best under the circumstances ; 
but it results in dissatisfaction to 
everybody and especially to the man 
taught. To get a number of men 
out of hand is the aim, and a 
smattering instead of a thorough 
knowledge is the result. What can 
be more injurious ? Men do any- 
thing to get ofl* the being taught 
by fits and starts (all that can be 
done under the present system), 
and this fragmentary and irritating 
teaching is one of the great causes 
of grumbling. But worse than that, 
for grumbling matters nothing if 
good is obtained, the men are spoilt 
by the system, many being satisfied 
with the little they know, and many 
never caring to learn anything. 

We have said before, that the busi- 
ness of a sailor can only be learnt 



at sea; and we may say now 
be a trained Bluejacket, and t 
all that is required with gu 
sword, field gun, and torpec 
only be learnt in the g 
establishments at Portsmou 
Plymouth. The ships ol 
establishments are devoted 
thing else ; and there the i 
taught thoroughly, and th 
men of the service volunteci 
through the course of insta 
which lasts about one year, i: 
they are taught as follows : 

Heavy gun drill for 2( 
Ammunition instruction for 
Truck gun drill for 5 days 
drill for 8 days. Sword dri 
days. Turret drill for 4 days, 
gun drill for 8 days. 

Having been through 2 
there is ten days* prelimim 
in each of the above : they t 
examined in heavy gun, tru( 
field exercise and ammuniti 
one of the other instruction 
they may select, obtaining 
second class certificates, acco 
their qualifications ; these cer 
carry with them ^d. and 2c 
respectively, in addition tc 
wages of 61. is, Sd., and 3Z. 
lasting for five years, wli 
pay ceases unless the .mai 
new certificate or may be 
and unable to renew it. S 
man gain sufficient number 
examination, he is recomme 
qualify for an instructor; 
goes through it all again 
taught the details carefully 
school course of about three 
and on passing, in additioi 
seaman-gunner*s pay, obtai 
day, 12I, 35. ^d. a year. To 
a seaman-gunner takes ne 
months, a gunnery instri 
months in addition ; should 
go farther and be instructec 
torpedo course, it takes for ( 
them about 6 weeks, and on 
they obtain another id, 
il, 108, 5(i. a year. 



The Bluejackets and Marines of the Eoyal Namj. 



141 



jyal Nary has in this way 
branches occupied in the 
instruction of men, and 
Q, who are sent in propor- 
each ship to do various 
3 all called seamen-gunners, 
consequence of having a 
) are exempt from any of 
ing that takes place on the 
n which they have passed ; 
f ing the difficulty of teach- 
jrthing in a Ship of the 
las long seemed to us that 
aas arrived when all Blue- 
proper should go through 
lery course for one year, 
so for the whole service 
) other way than to intro- 
•acks for our man-of-wars- 
Q out of a sea-going ship : 
[becomes a money question, 
rfection is what we should 
je run through the Royal 
J question of money ought 
band in the way, and we 
country will help to make 
jailors first by giving more 
ships, and make one and all 
lors seaman-gunners after- 
' giving them barracks to 
die they go through a com- 
pse of instruction, such as 
shown the seaman-gunners 
brongh, of whom we have 
t 4,ooo men in the whole 
We desire no better men, 
re it is quite possible for all 
their standard, 
ejacket should have but 
shore-life after leaving a 
jhip as a boy until he is 
vo or twenty- three ; look 
• him until that age, doing 
: to make a sailor of him : 
t mean keep him all that 
, training-ship, but let the 
; training-ships fill up the 
in the ships' companies on 
tations, so that he is kept 
d away from England until 
that age give him a year 
jks, instead of the present 
lips, with their attendant 



dockyard work as labourers, the 
effect of which is not advantageous ; 
you will then have a sailor founda- 
tion to work on. We do not mean 
to say he will not improve as a sailor 
after twenty-two, we know he must. 
It is a life the longer it is followed 
in the years of vigour the better sailor 
he must become ; but if he is not a 
sailor at twenty- two, he never will be. 
Therefore, the gunnery, &c. (Reedu- 
cation may commence then ; and on 
leaving the barracks at twenty-three 
or twenty-four, the Bluejacket will 
be perfectly trained, will take care 
of himself, and help to look after and 
teach any lads that may find their 
way into the ship to which he 
belongs. 

The result of this general training 
will be, that in every ship there will 
be but a few to be taught the things 
which trouble everyone so much 
now, and which get slurred over; 
there will be more time to do the 
necessary work of the ship and to 
perfect the men in their qualities 
as sailors, a subject on which they 
can be ever learning ; all our Blue- 
jackets proper will be seaman-gun- 
ners, carefully trained, with greater 
self-respect and self-reliance, and, 
we will hope, less vanity. 

It will take a great deal of money 
to carry out this. The sea-going 
training-ships, it is probable, are at 
present not to be found ; the bar- 
racks at Devon port, Portsmouth, 
Sheerness, and Chatham have to be 
built, and in this country it all rests 
with the general public. If the 
public once see there is a necessity 
for these things, we have no fear ; 
the ministers of the Crown can ask 
for the money and it will be given, 
and we leave it to the country. There 
is a small proportion of Bluejackets 
in the Royal Navy who come up 
to the standard required ; the 
nearer they are to it the nearer are 
they to the grand old loveable class 
of bygone days ; and added to the 
old-fashioned qualities, they have a 



142 



The Bluejackets and Marines of tUe Eoyal Navy. [. 



bright intelligence which is brought 
to bear on all they do, making 
them faithfnl servants, reasonable 
and honourable men : and our wish 
is that the great majority may be 
of this order, and a small minority 
the exception. 

Let us follow the careers of a 
Bluejacket and a Marine, from the 
time of entering to that of leaving 
the service. 

First, the Bluejacket. We will 
take a boy at the earliest age 
that he can join — 15. He can 
only be accepted by certain 
officers, in certain places named 
in the Regulations : he must bring 
with him a certificate of birth, and 
a declaration made by his parents, 
or nearest relation if an orphan, 
giving consent to his joining Her 
Majesty's Navy, and serving for 
ten years, from the age of 18. 
No apprentices are accepted, or 
boys from prisons or reforma- 
tories ; every care being taken 
to get as good a stock of lads for 
the service of the Crown as possible. 
The boy must be at least 4ft. lo^in. 
in height without his shoes, and 
measure 29in. round the chest, with 
his hands above his head, backs 
together, and counting aloud ; the 
measure is taken when between 30 
and 40 has been counted in a steady 
way : the boy must be able to read 
and write ; and is then subject to a 
very exact medical examination. 
One fancies that no boy could ever 
be so sound as seems necessary: 
joints, skin, chest, abdomen, teeth, 
eyes, &c. Ac, have to be examined 
minutely, and the examination in- 
variably detects and rejects those 
poor lads who have wanted care or 
nourishment in childhood : the waifs 
and strays of society are seldom 
able to pass the medical test for the 
B/Oyal Navy ; and the service is re- 
cruited chiefly from the sons of small 
farmers, shopkeepers and artizans, 
who have beien fed fairly, and have, 
therefore, some constitution on 



which to work ; but, even wii 
the improvement in their si 
appearance, after a time 
training-ships, is very marb 
The age and required s 
boys for the training-shipi 
as follows: age 15 to 15^ 
height 4ft. 10 Jin., chest 291 
15J to t6 years, height 4ft. 
chest 2 9 Jin. ; age 16 to 161 
height 5 ft. I in., chest 3oin. 
16J years the height and che; 
surements increase, and the 
not sent to a training-ship 
ordered to be called a first- cIj 
and going to the district 
As soon as a boy is accepte( 
dressed as a man-of-warsm 
do this, 5Z. is placed to hie 
account for cloiiies, and iZ. fc 
and blanket, as, all throu 
career, he has to pay for his < 
This money is given to prevc 
starting in life with a debt ; an 
care is taken, provided a 
himself careful of his cloth( 
he does not get into debt. 

The pay of a second-class 

6d, a day ; 9Z. 2s, 6cZ. a ye 

gets this clear, but he has t 

up his supply of clothes : ad 

this, the boy is fed, and th( 

funds at command in a tr 

ship whereby he gets mor 

the usual service diet, which 

piemen ted, with soft bread, po 

treacle, and some salt poi 

breakfast. When a boy ha^ 

about a year in a training- s' 

is promoted, being rated a fin 

bov. A further sum of 2Z. 

placed to his credit, for clc 

which finishes the assistance 

ceives in that way; as hi 

nothing more during his pei 

service, until he is 28 years c 

except once in three years, if 

serving in a steam ship and 

work at getting in coals, som( 

to make a coaling suit ; once i 

a pair of shoes for the same pn 

and every time coal is takei 

small piece of soap. But thi 

appUes to steam ships, and tl 



Hie Bltufjdckets aitd Marines of the Royal N(my, 



148 



'ho take part in the coaling ; 
merally speaking, from the 
being rated a first class-boy, 
^jackets have to clothe them- 
►ut of their pay. A first-class 
sives 7cZ. a day ; lol. i2«. iid, 
should he have entered over 
,rs of age, he gets the larger 
y allowance of 6Z. 
he age of i8 every first- 
)oy is rated ordinary sea- 
his is the last compulsory 
at a certain period, after 
advancement is pretty fairly 
merit and abilities. There 
classes of ordinary seamen, 
i second ; the first are those, 
ving been boys in the ser- 
Tive at the age of i8, and 
»d; the second is for any 

may join the Royal Navy 
first time and are over the 
8. A second-class ordinary 

18. a-day, i8Z. ^s, a-year; 
first-class ordinary i^. ^d, 
22I. 168, ^d, a-year. While 
oary seaman is serving in a 
* the Fleet, in spare time 
ihip instruction is carried 
ving, we fear but poorly, 
iinue where the training- 
i off; and the lads are kept 
eaching until able to reach 
dard required for the rating 
seaman, or A.B. as it is 

1 the ship's books, and gene- 
led. The standard for this 
i fixed, and there are certain 
to examine the lads, who 
up again and again until 

I pass : once passed, if their 
has been good, they are 
at if not well behaved, they 
kept back for a period. Aa 
ast be able to fulfil all a 
duties ; when once so rated 
lar seamanship instruction 
A boy who has been in a 
ship may be eighteen 
or two years an ordinary 
before he can come up to 
idard required ; should he 
•ee years, he must be very 



stupid, and not likely ever to ad- 
vance himself as a sailor. An A,B. 
receives i«. 7^ a-day, 28Z. 175. iid, 
a-year ; he is not forced to regular 
instruction, and yet to get his next 
step, that of leading seaman, he has 
to pass an examination to show he 
is not only a seaman, but one who 
can lead others, in fact, is fit for 
the position of petty officer. An 
A.B. having passed for leading 
seaman is not necessarily made one, 
there being only a certain number 
allowed in each ship ; therefore good 
conduct, the manner in which the 
examination has been passed, and 
smartness when alofb help a man, 
and as vacancies occur he gets 
advanced. A leading seaman re- 
ceives 18. gd. a-day, 31Z. 185. gd. 
a-year, and wears, as a badge of 
distinction, an anchor on his left 
arm. It is a great object to a man 
to become a leading seaman, as from 
that rank men are selected for the 
under posts of trust, second-class 
petty officers. A second-class petty 
officer receives i8, iid. a-day, 
34Z. 19s. yd. a-year; he wears a 
crown and anchor on his left arm, 
and may be a second captain of the 
forecasUe, fore or main tops, a 
signalman, coxswain of the barge, 
pinnace, or cutter. A man who 
not only behaves • well, but does 
well in his post as a second-class 
petty officer, as vacancies occur, is 
raised to the position of first- class 
petty officer, when he receives 28. 2d. 
a-day, 39Z. 108. lod. a-year, wears 
a crown and cross anchors on the 
left arm, and may be a gunner's 
or boatswain's mate, yeoman of 
the signals, captain of the fore or 
main top, coxswain of the launch, 
or quartermaster. As a first-class 
petty officer practically the career of 
a Bluejacket ends, he is in a place 
of responsibility, and beyond it 
there are few prizes to get. 

The few prizes open are, that of 
chief petty officer, of which a large 
ironclad has only five, if a fi&g 



144 



The Bhiejachets and Marines of the Royal Navy. 



ship seven ; and beyond that again, 
the rank of warrant officer, which 
he may obtain by passing an exami- 
nation, and being recommended to 
the Lords Commissioners of the 
Admiralty ; and he need not neces- 
sarilybe a chief petty officer, the man 
is taken by snch a step ont of the 
Bluejacket class and placed in that 
of the officer, wearing the same 
uniform, and associating with all the 
other officers of the ship. 

A chief petty officer receives 
28. jd. a-day, 47Z. 28. iid. a-year, 
for the first three years ; after that 
an increase of 2d. a-day, 50Z. 39. gd. 
a-year; he wears a crown and 
anchor encircled with laurel-leaf 
on his left arm, and may be a chief 
gunner's or boatswain's mate, chief 
quartermaster, captain of the fore- 
castle, or yeoman of the signals, or 
admiral's coxswain. 

The advancement of the Blue- 
jackets from one grade to another 
may now-a-days be pretty fairly said 
to go by merit ; all misdeeds are 
carefully recorded. Officers try to 
be strictly impartial; in days gone 
by we have often seen an A.B. 
rated first-class petty officer right 
away for some special smartness 
aloft — often for a smartness with 
nothing real in it, but quite of a 
fancy character ^ few men so rated 
kept their position, but tumbled 
back shortly to their former state; 
men used to be rated and dis-rated 
•on the whim of the moment, from 
anger, partiality, for good looks, or 
good clothes. The two latter may 
help now, but not to the degree 
they did years ago ; a slovenly man 
has no chance, but a well-dressed 
man, without other qualifications, is 
equally out of the running. Un- 
fortunately, the men themselves 
never quite give their officers credit 
for trying to be fair ; old stories are 
still handed down; eye-service is to 
a certain degree believed in, but hap- 
pily it is dying out, and we have 
amongst our petty officers in tlie 
Royal Navy men who do their 



duty straightforwardly, w 
sight of their officers or m 

We will now take the Mi 
which service a lad or mj 
entered between the age 
and 30 ; under the age 
must measure 32 inches r 
chest, over 18, 33 inches. 
20 years of age the standa 
is 5 feet 5 inches, over 2 
6 inches; but if a mai 
be a tradesman, he is aci 
5 feet 5 inches irrespecti 
age ; this is for the Light 
the largest body, the he 
size for the Artillery beiuj 
more. 

In point of height this 
falling off from the sta 
thirty years ago, but the 
like the Army, cannot gel 
healthy young countryma 
gone years, and have to b 
with the under-sized gene] 
have bred in our towns. 

The Marine recruit is ei 
the same way as a soldier, 
magistrate, but he is b( 
twelve years from the 
18, or from the time he 
above that age; at the er 
twelve years, he re-engage; 
plete twenty-one years, ^ 
obtains a pension; if h( 
of the superior non-coraii 
officers he is allowed by spt 
mission to continue servi 
the twenty-one years are c 
getting an increased pensi 
he does leave. Every Marine 
ingisgiven a free kit, and a } 
coutrements ; and every year 
out his service he receives 1 
pair of trousers, pair of be 
shirt, and in addition every j 
year three tunics of varioi] 
and every fourth year he ha 
a shako and great coat. I 
are serving abroad in shij 
marine clothing cannot be c 
have 305. a year placed 
credit instead, and if they 
to be sergeants, 3Z. A 



1875] 



The Bltiejciekets and Ma/nnes of the Royal Navy, 



14.5 



recrnit^ after passing His drills, 
which inolade ships-gan drill, is 
sappoeed to serve six months at 
sea before he can be raised to the 
grade of corporal ; this is not rigidly 
adhered to imfortunatelj, and men 
receive the stripes who have never 
heen to sea. The nomination rests 
principallj with the adjutants at 
head-quarters, the commandants 
making the promotion ; captains of 
companies are sometimes for long 
periods away from the company to 
which they belong, and as the adju- 
tant is at head-quarters for some 
years, it is on him the commandants 
rely in making their selections. 
The grade of sergeant and colour- 
sergeant is in the same manner due 
very mach to the recommendation 
of the adjutant; although a captain 
of a ship may help very materially 
a deserving non-commissioned offi- 
cer if be will recommend him ; but 
the head-quarters promote men for 
their soldier qualities, instead of 
looking to their marine qualities, 
which are really of greater value, 
and we hold this to be a mistake, 
for when you really meet a good 
parine non-commissioned officer he 
is invaluable afloat and ashore ; but 
a soldier non-commissioned officer is 
^ost usdess afloat. 

A private to gain his first step 
of bombardier in the Artillery or 
corporal in the Light Infantry must 
have, besides his knowledge of his 
^8, in which he must be a smart 
gonner and soldier, a slight know- 
ledge of the three Wb, There are 
head^^uarter schools and echool- 
Qiasters for this object. 

There is rarely a difficulty in get- 
ting recruits for the Marines. In 
london there is mo^t, but every- 
where else there is no trouble as 
compared with the Army, and we 
have known the Marine recruiting 
sergeant obtain week after week 
more men than the recruiting ser- 
gouits of all the regiments put to- 
gether. It is the sea service that does 

TOL. Xn.— HO. LXVin. KEW SERIES. 



this, the men being enabled to return 
home after it with well-filled purses: 
30Z., 40Z., and even lool, we have 
known Marines take home with them, 
and this is such a practical evidence of 
the superiority of the Marine Corps 
over the Army, in which a soldier 
after ten years in India returns home 
on furlough but little better off than 
he did as a recruit, that each Marine 
on leave after sea service is recruit- 
ing for his corps. The stationary 
head-quarters also attracts soldiers 
who have completed a term of ser- 
vice in one of our regiments, as it is 
more comfortable than the perpetual 
change of quarters that happens to 
regiments ; it carries with it matri- 
mony, there being" no objection in 
the Marines to any number of men 
being married; and in no other 
corps do you find the men of so 
many branches of the Army as you 
do in the Marines, both ArtiUery and 
Light InfSeuitry, the Guards, Cavalry, 
Artillery, and Line are all repre 
sented. 

The distinctive marks of the 
different grades in the Marines are 
the same as those in the Army, with 
which, doubtless, our readers are 
acquainted. The rates of pay are as 
follow: — ^a gunner is. 5^. a-day, 
26L 48, S\d. a-year; a private is. 2d, 
a-day, 21I. 5^. lod. a-year; a bom- 
bardier 2s. 2d. a-day, 39Z. los. lod, 
a-year ; a corporal of Artillery 2s. 4d. 
a-day, 42I. 11s. Sd, a-year; and a 
corporal of Light Infantry is. 6d, 
a-day, 27Z. 75. 6d. a-year ; a sergeant 
of -Ajrtillery 35. a-day, 54Z. 155. 
a-year; and a sergeant of Light 
Infantry 2s. 2d, a-day, 39Z. los. lod. 
a-year ; a sergeant-major of Artillery 
3«. 6d, a-day, 63Z. 1 75. 6d. a-year ; 
and a colour-sergeant of Light 
Infantry 28. Sd. a-day, 4SI. i^s. 4^. 
a-year. In barracks the Marines 
are fed in the same way as soldiers, 
at sea as sailors. A great deal 
might be said of this valuable 
corps; it has its blots and weak 
places, but it is a corps to which 

M 



146 



Tlie Bluejacheta and Ma/rinea of tlis Royal Navy, [ 



every naval officer is mach attached, 
and of which, as a part of his 
service, he is justly proud. 

Turning to that branch of the 
Bluejackets, the artizans, it will be 
fonnd that their rates of pay are 
generally better than in the cor- 
responduig rank amongst the 
seamen, their skilled labour being 
worth more and the demand being 
greater than the supply. A car- 
penter's crew gets id, a-day more 
than an A.B. ; a shipwright 5(2. a- 
day more than a leading seaman; 
a caulker's mate \d, a-day more 
than a second-class petty officer; 
a blacksmith 3c2. a-day more than 
a first-class petty officer; and an 
engine-room artificer 2s, ^d, and 3^. 
a-day more than a chief petty 
officer. These artizans we have 
mentioned are chief first and second 
class petty officers, wearing the 
same dress and the badges on their 
arms as the seamen. They have 
authority over the men under them 
and in the messes, or whatever 
work they may have to do ; but, 
like the officers of the non-executive 
branches in the Navy, they can 
never have the command of a boat 
or party of men away on duty. A 
leading seaman woidd, under such 
circumstances, take command of 
an engine-room artificer, and we 
consider this making of the artizans 
petty officers is a mistake. Give 
them classes and pay, and let the 
classes tell towards pensions ; but 
on no account let them wear the 
badges of petty officers; we have 
too many men who are called petty 
officers as it is ; by reducing their 
number, the position would become 
more valuable. 

The domestics get various rates 
of pay equal to that of ordinary and 
able seamen, but as their pay is 
made up to varying sums by the 
officers on whom they attend, 
which is regulated by their position 
and useftdness, it is not necessary 
to mention them. In passing, we 



may remark that those wl 
been messmen, receiving a 
subscription a month to m 
officers, generally realise 
petence which enables them 
very comfortably when thej 
Among the best paid mei 
'idler' class is the master-2 
who receives from 4^. to 6^ 
according to service, 73Z.to i 
a-year, rising 6d, a-day fo 
three years' service. He 
first chief petty officer in tl 
and is before anyone on th 
deck, Marines included. H 
a single-breasted frock co 
gilt crown-and-anchor butt< 
a sword. The naval schoc 
is also a chief petty officer, - 
the same dress as the master-^ 
but without the sword, am 
paid the same. The ship's 
is another in this category 
under the paymaster, and 
issuing of aU the provisic 
clothing. His pay varies f 
a-day, 36Z. los. a-year, to 3^1 
54Z. I5«. a-year, according 
sized ship he may be in. C 
three the master-at-arms xm 
been a leading seaman or a 
then a ship's corporal, or 
have come from the Marii 
naval schoolmaster is enterc 
the shore, and is a certified t 
the ship's steward has been 
steward's boy, then ship's st 
assistant. The ship's co 
who are the police of tl 
and the master-at- arms' s im: 
subordinates, receive from 
35. 8^. a-day, rising ^d. a-< 
every three years' service, 
per year from 36Z. los. to 661. 
There are also the stoki 
important and very hard^ 
claiss, who as second-class 
receive is. 8a. a-day, 30Z. 8 
year ; as stoker 2s. a-day, 3 
a-year; and as leading st 
first-class petty officer, 28. 
day, 44Z. 2». id, a-year. 
say, in this class there is m 



1875] 



The Bluejackets and Marines of the Royal Navy, 



147 



mediate stage between the rating 
of first-class petty officers and those 
who have no anthoritj whatever ; 
we notice it as one of the remnants 
of the past that crop up so often 
in the Boyal Navy. 

Amongst the Bluejackets there 
are still many othei: classes, but with 
only minute differences, and they 
are too numerous to specify. 

The rates of pay that we have 
given may be called the * bare pay ' 
of the Bluejackets and Marines of 
the Royal Navy, but there are va- 
rioos ways a man may supplement 
his pay and so raise it. In the first 
place, this is to be done by good 
conduct, after three years' man's 
semce ; that is to say, at the age of 
21, and provided the man is an 
A.B., if he has behaved well, and 
'Very Grood ' has been recorded 
against him for the last two years, 
he obtains his first good-conduct 
^^adge, a stripe of gold-lace on 
^ jacket, red braid on his blue 
serge frock, and blue braid on 
kis white frock, and with this 
Wge he gets id, a-day extra, 
i^. 108, ^d, a-year. After eight 
years* service, at 26 years of age, if 
he has worn the first badge con- 
tmnally for the last two years of 
^ tune, a man gets his second 
Wge, another stripe, and with it 
' another id, a-day, making 2d, a 
^y» 3^. 08, lod, a-year extra. After 
tiurteen years' service, and in this 
case the man must have served 
Ma first period, and within three 
years of having left re-entered for 
* Booond ten years, in which case he 
starts in his second time with the 
hidges which he held at the close 
^ his first time ; during the three 
years of his second time he must 
lare worn his second badge for two 
consecutive years, and have alto- 
gether maintained a good character, 
he may then wear his third badge, 
gaining another id, a-day, a total 
addition of ^d. a-day, 4I, 1 is, $d, a- 
year. This is all the Bluejacket 



class can get by good conduct; 
some of them are not granted 
badges however well they may be- 
have, the stewards, cooks, domestics, 
and ordinary seamen; so that a 
seaman must have passed out of the 
Ordinary into the Able, and then 
his character as ordinary is allowed 
to reckon. The master-at-arms and 
ship's corporals are granted badges, 
but not the pay ; this granting the 
badge helping them when their 
long-service pensions are allotted. 
The Marines in the same way, with 
the exception of the sergeants, for 
three, eight, thirteen, eighteen, 
twenty-three, and twenty-eight 
years' service receive for each 
period one badge and id, a-day, 
the sixth badge giving an increase 
of ql, 28. 6d. a-year. The seamen 
have means of further increasing 
their pay by going to the gunnery 
establishments and becoming sea- 
man-gunners. If on examination 
they obtain a second-class certificate, 
they gain an addition of 2d, a-day, 
3Z. OS, lod, a-year, and, as a dis- 
tinctive mark, wear a gun on the 
right arm. A first-class certificate 
gives them 4d, a-day, 61, is, Sd. a- 
year ; the distinctive mark being a 
gun and crown on the right arm 
With either of these certificates they 
may be called skilled workmen, and 
it will be seen their pay is about on 
a par with that of the artizan class. 
By becoming a gunnery instructor 
they may be looked on as master- 
workmen, and receive for it an 
addition of is, a-day, 18Z. 59. a-year; 
the distinctive mark being a gun, 
with rifle and cutlass crossed, on 
the right arm. A man may also 
become a diver or torpedo-man, in 
either of which cases he receives a 
further addition of id, a-day. Men 
need not wait to go to the gunneiy- 
ships for these additions, but in their 
own ships can become * trained men ' 
or * acting seaman-gunners ' on pass- 
ing an examination before the gun- 
nery officer on board, and receive at 

M 2 



148 



The Bluejackets and Marines of the Royal Navy. 



once an addition of id. a day in the 
first case and 2c2. a day in the second 
case. 

Yarioas classes amongst the idlers 
receive certain fixed allowances in 
addition to their pay : the stewards 
for takiDg charge of the officers* 
mess traps, from 2d, to Se^. a-day, 
according to the mess they are at- 
tached to ; the naval schoolmaster 
122. a-year, which increases 6Z. a- 
year every seven years until it 
reaches 24Z. a-year ; the ship's 
steward from is, 6d. to 3^. a-day 
according to the sized ship, 172. 7^. 
6d, to 54Z. I5«. a-year, in some 
cases doubling his pay ; the car- 
penters get tool-money, 3d. a-day, 
4Z. lis, 3d. a-year, provided they 
have a complete set of tools ; and a 
boy may increase his pay by learn- 
ing to be bugler, for which he will 
receive an extra id, a-day. 

Besides their pay, the Bluejackets 
and Marines of the Boyal Navy are 
fed, and what is more, paid in money 
for what they do not eat out of the 
day's supply of provisions ; this is 
not a fiction, but a reality, of 
which the recruiting sergeant of 
Marines makes much use; we have 
seen it prominently in Marine hand- 
bills, and believe it is one of the 
causes why that corps can always 
keep its ranks filled. 

The feeding of each man costs 
about IS, a-day ; at sea the men 
have for dinner salt beef with plum- 
pudding, and salt pork with pea-soup 
on alternate days, one day in the 
week preserved meat with preserved 
potatoes or rice is issued as a change ; 
there is a supply of vinegar, pepper, 
mustard, salt, and oatmeal : in har- 
bour fresh meat and vegetable, soup 
daily, with the exception of one day 
in the week, when salt pork with 
pea-soup is issued as a change. 

Breakfieist consists of cocoa and 
biscuit ; and tea, or supper as it is 
called, of tea and biscuit. Rum-and- 
water is issued at dinner-time, and 
the dietary in quantity stands as 



follows : every day : — Bisci 
or i^lb. soft bread ; spirits 
(when mixed with water, 
pint) ; sugar 20zs. for breal 
supper ; cocoa loz. for b: 
about a good basinful ; tes 
supper, about a good basinfu 
beef lib. if in harbour; vc 
^ib. in soup, about a good I 
on alternate days at sea, s 
lib; peas ^Ib. about a b 
•^ an oz. celery-seed is boi 
every 81bs. of peas ; salt b 
flour 90ZS. suet |ozs. cur 
rasins i^oz , made up int 
pudding ; once a week at s< 
served beef Jib., preserved 
or rice 40ZS. or half of each, 
oatmeal 30ZS. (this is put 
soup), mustard ^oz. pep 
vinegar ipint, salt as i 
When fourteen davs ha^ 
passed on salt provisions, 
juice is issued daily. 

The men are divided int<] 
so many to each. The '. 
Stokers, Band, Chief and Fi 
Petty Officers, have each 
messes, and sometimes to tl 
added the Second-class Pe 
cers, in which case the lead in| 
have to take charge of the 
The boys are divided ovei 
messes. Care is taken in 
the men in messes to let th( 
their own choice as much 
ble, but at the same tic 
aiTange them, that there ar 
men enough to clean the n 
look after it. The men tak 
to be what is called * coc 
mess ;' all the meals are c 
one place ' the galley,' but 1 
of each mess goes to the g 
everything during his day ; 1 
the washing up of the plates 
sins after each meal, and is ^ 
responsible that his mess 
On the men joining a ship ^ 
is first commissioned, a 
amount of mess traps is ; 
by the Victualling Yards, 
on board ; * bread barges ' 



1875] 



The Bluejackets and Marmee of the Bayal Navy, 



14& 



biscuit ;' kids and monkeys ' for get- 
ting the grog, or holding vinegar or 
^ter, 'mess kettles' for the cocoa, 
tea and soap, 'mess tins ' for baking 
meats and pnddin^; 'tins' for 
pepper, mustard, and salt ; ' spoons ' 
&c. &c, ; then the men club to- 
gether, and buy basins and plates 
with the number of their mess on 
them, and after a pattern selected 
by the commanding officer to ensure 
nniformitj: a mess fund is estab- 
lished, and at the end of the quarter 
the leEuiing men of the mess or 
caterer receives what is called 
' Savings,* which is money for any 
of the allowed provisions that have 
not been eaten by the men, and 
are 'left behind,' so that they re- 
main in the ship, enabling the 
provisions which were calculated 
according to the full scale to last 
three months, to last half as long 



The quarterly savings paid to 
the messes vary very much, the men 
themselves and the station they are 
on making differences. In the 
Channel Squadron a mess of twelve 
iQen may take about 61. a quarter, 
ftmess of 1 8 men about loL ; in the 
Mediterranean, 12 men would pro- 
bably receive 8Z., and 24 men 15Z. ; 
in the Pacific, 1 2 men might receive 
7^. iQs.y and 18 men about iiZ. ; 
if a mess has more lads in it than 
another, more is eaten and the 
savings less; but whatever it is, 
it go^ into the mess fund, when 
the mess is broken up ; and in some 
cases if there is nothing wanted for 
the mess, there is a division of a 
part or all of the money, and the 
inen put it in their pockets ; but the 
loess that keeps all its savings in 
the fund until it is finally broken 
^p, having some ruling spirit who 
has the capabilities of management, 
is able to have dinners from the 
■bore when in harbour, only taking 
exactly what is wanted for con- 
inmption at other times, so saving 
sgaxn, the mess fund increasing 
•vwy quarter. 



This all requires some arrange- 
ment ; but the men do it amongst 
themselves, and in going round the 
mess-decks of a man-of-war, where 
you see the shelves well stocked 
with basins, plates, &c. drc., all 
things clean, bright, and tidy, a 
part of the traps in the first place 
comes out of the men's pockets, 
and the cleanliness and brightness 
are due to their taking a pride in 
the place they live in. It must be 
borne in mind, that public as the 
place may appear, it is the man's 
home for the time he is living in 
the ship, and provided there is no 
sacrifice of efficiency, everything 
should be done that is possible to 
make that home comfortable. 

Still there must be strictness 
about the men's messes ; comfort to 
the men does not mean leaving 
them to themselves altogether, it 
means a tight hand over the lower 
deck, obedience in the messes to 
the petty officers the same as any. 
where else, so that if there is an evil 
minority they are kept in order, 
and no ground given for a saying 
we have heard in ships, ' the black- 
guards sway away all top ropes, 
and a decent man has not a chance 
to live.' 

Looking on the messes as the 
men's house, we deprecate well- 
meaning people being allowed to 
go to them for the purpose of 
preaching, as there are all sects 
amongst a ship's company. Au- 
thority prevents all Jew- traders, 
&c. &c., who prey upon the men, 
going into the messes ; and it should 
equally keep them free from in- 
truders of all sorts : it is quite 
enough for the men to have the 
proper officers, whose duty it is 
to do so, in and out of their messes ; 
and we put it to our readers how 
much they would resent their 
drawing-rooms or dining-rooms 
being invaded at any hour by 
utter strangers offering to read 
the Bible, or preaching against the 
use of intoxicating liquors. 



150 



Ths Blu^acJceis and Marmes of the Boyal Navy. 



By this we do not mean to say 
any&ing against such well-meaning 
people, as we respect their motives, 
nor would we wish to prevent 
them from going on board of our 
men-of-war ; but we hold strongly 
that officers should give them no 
more countenance, than seeing, 
if the work admits of it, there is a 
private place set apart, to which 
they may go quietly, and any man 
who might wish to see them should 
have every facility for so doing. 
Officers should not lend the weight 
of their presence to any Meeting, 
while serving as officers, as it adds to 
that eye-service which we wish to see 
reduced in the Navy to its smallest ; 
and into the bargain we know there 
is no occasion for their presence, 
the Bluejackets and Marines in 
these days being quite independent 
in thought on such subjects, having 
their own opinions and attending 
such Meetings on shore as fit in 
with them ; and as a proof of what 
the men can do of themselves, last 
Christmas at Lisbon, the teetotalers of 
the Channel Squadron hired rooms 
on shore, and had prayer-meetings 
amongst themselves, and what is 
more, had the moral courage to go 
out amongst the other men of the 
squadron, on leave at the time, and 
pray them also to come in. 

If we compare Bluejackets and 
Marines, theformerare paid, housed, 
have fuel and lights, are fed, and 
paid for what they do not eat out of 
the allowance of food ; and, on the 
other hand, have to know a multi- 
plicity of branches of work, as we 
have shown, are liable to be called 
for duty day and night in all 
weathers, and have to clothe them- 
selves. The latter are in the 
same category, except that they 
need not know nearly so many 
branches of work, and have the 
most part of their clothing supplied 
them. 

Regulations lay down what 
clothes both the Bluejacket and 



Marine must have. The 
besides his soldier's kit, 
the same nearly as a man : 
regiment, must have white 
jacket, cap, and cover whei 
climate, a bed, blanket, 
cover is lent him when afl 
the Bluejacket must get a 
up the following fixed lii 
blue cloth jacket, two paii 
cloth trousers, two bin 
frocks, one blue serge jum 
vhite drill frocks, two w 
jumpers, four pairs of white 
one white working suit, t 
silk handkerchiefs, one v? 
one black hat, two blue cl 
one woollen comforter, foui 
three check shirts, one ser 
suit, two pairs of socks or s 
two towels, one type, one 
lanyard, one pair of shoes, 
of half boots, two bed-co^ 
bed, and one blanket. Tl 
tuck into the trousers, the 
hang loose outside. The i 
is to wear from supper ti 
ordered to dress the next 
white working suit is for si 
as provisioning, exercise, 
the ship, and anything th 
dirty work like coaling, b 
spoU good clothes. The 
piece of wood with the ma 
cut in to mark his clothes. 
a monkey jacket is optional 
boys and such men as hap] 
serving in troop ships ar 
from having a blue clot] 
The half boots are not req 
boys or men who do not 1 
the small arm companies { 
piece crews ; that is, the i 
are not likely to be call 
land. 

As we have shown, « 
mencing life a boy receiv( 
wards his clothes, and li 
bed and blanket; in lit 
than a year he becomes a 1 
boy, and receives a furthe 
2l, I08, for clothes. It mi 
fore, be supposed most of tl 



1876] 



The Bluejackets cmd Marines of the Royal Navy, 



151 



the tedning-sbipB with good kits, 
and free of debt, but then comes 
a straggle. Lads, as a rule, are not 
Cftrefol of their clothes ; the regula- 
tion kit has to be kept np ; if a lad is 
badly dressed, he is simply ordered 
to have fresh clothes, and to get 
these things he has charged against 
his pay certain rates for anything 
he may require. 

The clothes have to be made up 
according to pattern, and in doing 
this the man who can sew has an 
advantage ; if unable, he must pay 
another to make his clothes, and 
those who can make up clothes well 
are able to employ all their leisure 
lame, and reap a very good harvest, 
for eyerything a bluejacket wears 
is made on board, and the work, we 
can assure our readers, will bear 
scmtiny. 

Taking everything a man is 
oUiged to keep up, at the very least 
his kit represents about 13Z. ; with 
petty officers and men long in the 
lervice 20I, is nearer the mark. 

Let us now examine a few cases, 
seeing what men may have to re- 
oeive ; and in doing so we will take 
everyday cases. 

I. A chief petty officer of some 
fifteen years' service, one who has 
been more than three years in his 
position, a very good man who has 
^ways behaved well and passed 
every examination open to him, so 
soon as he had completed his tirst 
period of service, he joins again, the 
^ boon for so doing he obtained 
being to receive a bed and blanket, 
or if not wanting them having iZ. 
]^&oed to his credit ; he is between 
33 and 34 years of age and receives 
the following pay : 

Per diem Per year 
«y . . . 2s, gd. £50 3 9 

3 good-condact badges 3ef. 4 11 3 
S^man-guiner, istcl. 4d. 618 
^nm«rj Insdiictor . Sd. 12 3 4 
Xorpedo-man . . id, i 10 5 



Just iZ. Ss, *jd, a- week : he is fed 
besides, worth, with Bring, another 
108, a- week at the least, for he could 
never feed himself on that sum; 
should he not be a seaman-gunner, 
he comes down to 35. a-day, iZ. is, 
a- week making a great difference. 

2. A first-class petty officer of 
thirteen years* service, also a seaman- 
gunner, but not an instructor or tor- 
pedo man, a man of good conduct, 
aged 31, having re-entered at 28 on 
his first period of service expiring : 

Per diem Per year 
Pay . . . , 2s. 2d, £39 10 10 
3 good-conduct badges ^d. 4 11 3 
Seaman-gunner, I stcl. ^d, 618 



2s. gd. £50 3 9 



jgs, 3(2. a- week, fed and housed as 
in the first case ; if this man happens 
not to be a seaman- gunner, ana has 
only two badges, he is reduced to 
168. 4d, a- week ; and although not 
being so skilled all round as if a 
seaman- gunner, his responsibilitieB 
may be just as great and even more ; 
then again he may be an instructor 
or torpedo-man, in which case he 
raises his weekly pay to iZ. 4^. 6d. a- 
week. 

3. A second-class petty officer, 
nine years in the service, 27 years of 
age: 

Per diem Per year 

Pay ... 18. lid, £34 19 7 

2 good-conduct badges 2d, 3 o 10 

Seaman -gunner, 1st cl. ^d. 618 

28. Sd. £44. 2 I 



4ir. id. £74105 



168, lid, a- week; let this man only 
have one badge and not be a seaman- 
gunner, and he is reduced to 14^. 
a- week ; if without badges and a 
trained man, he gets the same. 

4. An A.B., of five years* service 
and 23 years of age : 

Per diem Per year 

Pay . . . ,18. yd. £28 17 11 

I good-conduct badge id. i 10 5 

Seaman-gunner, istcl. 4^. 618 

28. Od. £36 10 O 



152 



The BhujaekeU and Marines of the Boyal Na»y. [i 



J4S. a- week ; but if he is, as many 
are at that age, without badges, and 
not a seaman-ganner, or even a 
trained man, he has but ii^. id, a- 
week, and the age he may be earning 
this is from 2 1 to 26, and even np 
to 28. 

With the Marines in some cases 
the pay is lower in corresponding 
grades, gunners and privates getting 
less than able seamen : a corporal of 
Light Infantry less than a second- 
class petty officer, but a sergeant 
gets the same as a first-class petty 
officer; a sergeant or corporal of 
Artillery, however, gets more than 
first and second class petty officers, 
even with gunnery pay, except of 
course instructors ; and as the rates 
of pay in the Marines are governed 
by the pay of the Army, their rise 
must always depend on the condi- 
tion of the recruiting market, a state 
of affairs which does not apply quite 
in the same way to the supply of 
boys for the Navy. 

In placing these rates of pay 
before our readers, we have put 
what a man can obtain with care, 
the best he can get ; and when out 
of the weekly pay quoted a Blue- 
jacket has to clothe himself, keep- 
ing up the kit we have enumerated, 
and also maintaining a wife and 
children, it can be seen, knowing 
as he does of the high rate of 
wages in the country, how he 
feels he is poorly paid, and we 
think the time he chafes most is 
when he is an able seaman, the 
five or six years he is still bound 
appear so long in prospect. All 
outside the service looks attrac- 
tive; he may be in debt to the 
Grown, and a favourable opportu- 
nity, or a demand in the labour 
market near where he happens to 
be, makes him desert ; and we fear 
the desertions yearly are much 
larger than our readers have any 
idea of. Again, a Bluejacket may 
want to marry, for in these days 
they marry young, and what is 



better, veiy respectably ; th 
men of our seaports of thirt} 
ago, with their five or six hus 
getting half-pay from eacl 
taking care of each in tu 
arrival home, have quite 
peared, and we have now a n 
able young wife of a respc 
husbaod. The loss of the O 
and the Captain revealed t 
us when the widows came 
seen, and we also found ho^ 
the men had supported ft 
mothers, sick sisters and br( 
unable to work. 5*. a- week 
that can be spared ; some maj 
108. a- week, but only the fe^ 
in the best and most respc 
positions can send to those 
belong to them anything like 
cent sum, say from iSs. to 
week. It is the inability, < 
in very rare cases, to send 
than a trifle of money home to 
dear to them, and the diffici: 
keeping out of debt, that "v 
heavy on our young seamer 
makes them often dissatisfied. 

It is the country only tht 
allay dissatisfaction from the < 
we have given. The price th 
have to pay for their clothe 
increased, like all else that is b( 
The pay of the chief petty office 
been improved; but the able 6( 
has had no rise of pay for we ( 
know how long : and wo vent 
suggest the following rates 0I 
which, if given by the counti 
know would make a mar\ 
difference in the men's feeli 
their service. 

Boys and ordinary seaman 
not to be altered. It is a nov 
they are being taught their 1 
and as the boys are allowed tc 
free of debt, and to send 
shillings a month to their fr 
their case has been bettered i 
way, and old man-of-warsmc 
in consequence sending theii 
into the service, which thej 
refrained from doing previous 



The Bluejackets and Marines of the Royal Navy, 



158 



seamen, is. lod. per diem, 
)d, per if?eek ; leading sea- 
. per diem, 148. per week; 
class petty officer, 25. 2d. 
m, 15*. 2d. per week; first- 
}tty officer, 2s. ^d. per diem, 
i. per week. 

to be the rates of bare pay, 
ir emoluments to remain the 
The pay of the chief petty 
to remain as now ; and we 
lere should be an addition for 
who serve a second ten years, 
in joins for his second ten 
rithin six weeks of having 
ed his first period, that 
ks is allowed to reckon for 
iud the date of joining is 
e of leaving ; we would ex- 
is to two months, and also 
t anyone rejoiniDg within a 
' eighteen months should 
. a-day added to the pay of 
jr rating he may hold duriog 
>le of this second period of 

his which we propose we 
leans more money, but we 
it will be money well ap- 
nd while we hold those in the 
of the countrv must never 
to get a money equivalent 
ir service, the thing being 
ble from the nature of their 
, nor to expect to lay by a 
jnce when work is over, we 
d it is the duty of the coun- 
see that its servants have 
t for their needs; and as 
•ies of life become more ex- 
the country should from 
time adjust the pay of its 

1 in unison with the times, 
lejackets and Marines could 

brought to feel that, irre- 
of party, the Government 
day always looked forward 
QQ, and arranged for their 
; that they never had to 
anything that was reason- 
quired, what warm feelings 
anld have to the service ! 
riain of a man-of-war looks 



out for his men, feeling it a privi- 
lege to do so. Cannot the rulers 
look out for the whole service in 
the same way ? Alas ! the feeling 
amongst the men now is, that the 
only way to get anything is to 
grumble, and to write to the news- 
papers. The country is to blame 
for its indifference to the Bluejackets 
and Marines, and the rulers reflect- 
ing that indiflerence, naturally re- 
main passive until moved by some 
special disturbance or some univer- 
sal pressure. 

While suggesting an increase of 
pay, we may also suggest a slight 
addition to the dietary and a dif- 
ference in the meal hours ; at pre- 
sent the meals are — breakfast at 
half-past six, dinner at twelve, 
supper at half-past four, or break- 
fast at half-past five, dinner at 
twelve, and supper at five. In 
either case it is a long time to go 
from supper to breakfast the next 
morning; and we suggest what in 
certain cases is done should be done 
throughout the service, and that is 
half allowance of cocoa be issued 
as a small breakfast as soon as the 
men get up ; and as a fresh sug- 
gestion that the breakfast and dinner 
hour come later in the day, and the 
supper at six o'clock after all the 
work is over. 

There is no difficulty in the way 
of the men should they wish to 
send money to their wives or rela- 
tions. A second-class boy may 
send 68. a month to his relations, 
and others, in proportion, allowing 
a margin that in case of death or 
desertion the man should not be in 
debt to the Crown. The men are 
paid monthly on foreign stations, 
and weekly at home, and at the 
end of every quarter their account 
is squared. What they can afford 
may be remitted, and is sent to the 
relatives by a bill on the Paymaster- 
General, or they may settle a fixed 
sum which is paid monthly, called 
an allotment, and received by the 



154 



The Bluejackets and Marines, of the Royal Navy. [ 



relations at the Dockyards, Castom 
Houses, Inland Revenue Offices, 
<&c. There is also a savings bank 
on board in which the men's money 
is deposited ; and on paying off a 
ship in England, the amount paid 
out of the savings bank, or trans- 
ferred with men to their next ships, 
equals the payments to a whole 
ship's company a quarter of a 
century ago, when there had been 
but little money paid every month, 
and the pay had been accumulating 
over the whole commission, perhaps 
three or four years. This, we 
think, establishes the care the men 
take in these days of their money. 
There are daily means of spending 
it abroad, but the ship's savings 
bank always holds a large sum. 

After a Bluejacket has completed 
his twenty years* service, and a 
Marine his twenty-one years', they 
are allowed what is called a long- 
service pension, which varies from 
i8Z. to 52Z. a-year, perhaps the 
average is about 28Z. to 30Z. a- 
year; there is a scale laid down, 
petty or non-commissioned officers' 
time giving an increase, so that the 
more years a man is in those ranks 
the better pension he receives ; the 
foundation of the pension is able 
seaman or private's services, and so 
much in addition for the different 
grades. Men who are of exem- 
plary conduct receive good-conduct 
medals, and others with the medals 
a gratuity; these rewards pen- 
sioners value highly. With the 
Bluejackets one thing is wanted, 
and that is, that leading seaman's 
time should count towards pension. 
A man has passed the examination 
for petty officer, and is waiting for 
vacancies. Sometimes he has to wait 
long, at others a short time — various 
circumstances bringing this about — 
but we think it fair the time so spent 
should add to a man's pension. 

In looking at the Bluejackets' 
certificates when at the end of their 
service, three things have struck 



me in the mass of cases : fin 
what very good characU 
men are discharged ; second 
however good the characti 
have been for years, at one 
was not so good, in some cai 
even 'prison* recorded, ai 
the time of bad behaviour i 
riably the same, — when tl 
was an ordinary or youi 
seaman, between 19 and 2. 
of age. We believe it is 
first place due to the exc: 
in the hot blood of youth at 
itself tied down with but 1 
wage, until the age of 2 8 . It 
at 20 with eight years* p: 
what it has willingly undert 
16 with twelve years' prospe 
almost every man appears i 
out at this period. But aft 
they are quiet. A distinj 
Naval Officer, and one well 
judge, has proposed that there 
be facilities for discharge 
age, believing that many 
take it, and finding hard wc 
ills on shore, return willis 
few would be lost, but the nu 
desertions would be saved. 

The third thing noticeable 
certificates is the amount < 
man-of-warsmen spend in 1 
ships, generally eleven years 
twenty; of their time in s« 
ships, nine years' service ] 
called the average, eleven th< 
mum. The sea-going ships s 
the harbour-ships are many 
man goes to a gunnery shi 
impossible for him to hav< 
than nine years in sea-goin^ 
Moreover, our readers mr 
think this means nine years 
sea-going ships rarely gei 
than a third of their time a 
at sea, the remaining twc 
being spent in harbours, 
great pity, but so it is. 

We have now placed befc 
readers all the information 1 
sess about the Bluejacket 
Marines of the Boyal Nav 



1875] Tke Bluejackets and Marmei of the Royal Naroy. 155 

will recapitnlate what we have ang- specimea of a Bluejacket or a 

gested as wanted, and which Par- Marine is inralaable ; there is no- 

liament alone can supply, aB it in- thing Uke him. 
TOlves the question of money. Farther, to pass into the country 

ist. Sea-going tiaining-ships for yearlymenfromtfairty-oi^httoforty 

oar Ordinary Seamen. years of age, in the prime of life, 

2nd. Barracks for the Blue- steady, well-behaved, civil, cleanly, 

jackets, that they may be perfectly and sober, who having pensions are 

trained in some of the essentials able, with a guarantee for good con- 

of their lives. duct, to offer their services to their 

3rd. A rise in pay for some of conntrymeo, would be a decided 

the classes of seamen, and for all gain to the community. We 

who may serve a second ten years, could recommend these men for 

4th, A slight alteration in the any post of trust, care of cham- 

dietary. bers, offices, as night watchmen 

5th. That a portion of time, now where there is valuable property, 

not allowed to count, may count time-keepers, messengers, tKi-ga- 

towards an increase of pension. therers, colleotora of rentfl, or what 

We have also hinted at the no- not. Let such men be employed, 

oessity of some arrangement in the and we know they will be kept, and 

ratings, whereli^ the number of that each year toe demand for them 

petty officers might be lessened, but will increase. 

this is a question of internal sco- On the Navy of England chiefly 

nomy and must be left over. depends England's place in the 

Aa to the changes we have pro- world, and we most hearUly wish 

posed, we can assure onr readers the Enghsh Public, of oO classes, 

that the men are well worth them, could be brought to take a lively, 

It would not be money lost to the intelligent, and practical interest m 

country. We believe that a good the subject. 




156 



[ 



OLD RINGS AND SEALS. 

A GOSSIP ABOUT ENGRAVED GEMS. 
By the Rev. R. H. Cave. 



FOR a nice qniet trotting or can- 
tering hobby horse, waiTanted 
sound and steady as an Episcopal 
cob, which shall carry its owner by 
the pleasantest by-paths and bridle- 
lanes of history, commend ns to the 
study of antique engraved gems. 
To be sure it is not a hobby which 
can be ridden very fast or very far 
by the dwellers in remote country 
places. Old rings and seals are not 
to be found in any great quantities 
in agricultural districts, nor are 
good collections of antique gems to 
be seen easily out of great towns 
and centres of civilisation — unless 
you happen to know some such 
country gentleman as he who has 
bought * the Marlborough Gems* 
in a lump. Still a good deal may 
be done in that way by any one 
who occasionally visits London and 
studies diligently Mr. King's books 
on ^antiquegems' and other cognate 
subjects ; books of which the Hora- 
tian maxim will still hold good to 
the diligent gem collector: — *Noc- 
turna versate manu, versate diurna.* 
In fact, Mr. King has done more 
than any other living man to re- 
vive the study of a wholly extinct 
art, of an art which seems to be as 
irrevocably lost to us as the missing 
books of Livy, or the making of 
murrhine vases, or of the kuacas 
of the Incas. The collector of 
antique gems has at least this ad- 
vantage over all other collectors of 
antiques, that modem forgeries of 
old engravings upon stone are really 
too expensive to be made, and 
would, in fact, probably cost more 
than the originals. The collector 
of old china, for instance, has con- 
stantly to be on his guard against 
frajid ; there are so many traps 
laid to catch him. For him Goal- 
brookdale prepares its inimitable 



Chelsea vases and square 
Worcester. And to catch 
Wardour Street exhibits 
fine-lustred majolica ware 
and warranted to be by ] 
Georgio, of Gubbio), whi 
Marquis Ginori is so kindly 
out for his benefit by the j 
Doccia. And the buyer of 
knows well that iu garrets, 
far from Wardour Street, 
Rembrandts are being coi 
boiled down for the inspe< 
the unwary. But once 
learned to distinguish a sto 
a paste, the gem-collector 
measure safe from impositio 
were told only the other 
story in point by a London 
who has an extensive and in: 
collection of antique gems, 
anxious to see what could 
in this way by modern m 
gentleman commissioned i 
seal-engraver he was ace 
with to execute a small fij 
him upon an onyx, after s( 
Greek statue he had select 
model. Having waited p 
for nearly a year, he at ler 
tained a pretty faithful, b 
tame rendering of the origi 
had to pay for his little gen 
of about twenty-five poui 
which he might have pu 
four or five good antique si 
the same kind. If the taste 
graved gems were to become 
able once more, as it was in t 
teenth century, for instance, c 
it is likely that a body of ei 
would arise who might be al 
all the appliances of moder 
turnout satisfactory forgerie 
munerative price. But at the 
time it certamly does not pay 
antique gems. Even in I 
art has been well-nigh lost. 



Old Binge and Seals, 



157 



basts, we believe, are still — 
et OS say, manufactured there, 
I oat at so much the dozen, as 
lents for brooches and studs ; 
arcelj the veriest tyro could 
^ived by these. And Italian 
aen of this kind of jewellery 
e their attention almost ez- 
sly to the cutting of heads and 
3 apon shells. In fact, when 
ih people in general mention 
>rd ' cameo,' they mean, as a 
his kind of shell cameo work 

middle-class ladies are so 
f wearing in brooch or brace- 
retty things enough, but of 
ittle importance, artistic or 
rise. 

ancient art of engraving 
itones, whether in the way of 

or cameo, is a very different 
—the stones which have been 
ily chosen by the engravers 
of the agate or quartz section 
k ; the cornelian, sard, onyx, 
yst, or even the very hardest 
as stones known to us, the 
md the sapphire. These have 
ngraved in various ways, but 
isually by means of diamond 
and powder — * diamond cut 
ad * — with rapidly revolving 
} or discs of steel. In this 
beads and groups of figures 
ither been cut into the stone 
lio) or else left prominent in 
or low relief in one or more 

1 of the stone that has been 
i for the purpose, whilst the 
round remains of another 

of colour (cameo). On ac- 
of the hardness of the stones 
1, these little sculptures are, 
ct, indestructible. Many of 
are contemporary with the 
of Phidias and other great 
ors of the finest age of Grreek 
jid whilst the larger marbles 
>erished, these gems have lain 
1 in the bosom of the earth for 
igh two thousand years,during 
it dark and dreary time when 
ecaying Eoman empire was 
Ing to its grave — ^to be turned 



up at last by the ploughshare and the 
spade of a modern civilisation, and 
adorn the cabinet of a nineteenth- 
century gem-collector. The writer of 
this article has in his possession, for 
instance, a stone (cornelian) of the 
exact size of the little finger nail, 
with a group of three figures cut 
upon it, and so beautifully and 
skilfully carved that the finest 
microscope can discover no flaw or 
imperfection in the anatomy of the 
figures, which are as perfect, in 
their way, as the dying gladiator 
or the Apollo of the Vatican. This 
gem is of the time of Augustus, and, 
consequently, nearly two thousand 
years old. The little drawer of a 
cabinet on the study table can, there- 
fore, hold a collection of antique or 
modem gems (and many of the 
carvings of the eighteenth century are 
very good), so that a collector of 
moderate means and appliances may 
have within his reach sculptures as 
beautiful and perfect — although in 
miniature — as those which adorn 
the galleries of Chatsworth, or even 
the walls of the Vatican. 

It seems a strange thing that a 
study so fascinating as the study of 
antique gems should have almost 
died out from among us, or, rather, 
should have altogether died out, 
within the last hundred years, and 
should only just now begin to have 
a renaissance. And we have some 
difficulty in accounting for the fact. 
In the last century it was even 
fashionable to collect these waifs 
and strays of antiquity. A dacty- 
liotheca, or cabinet of gems, was an 
essential part of the dignity of a 
European prince, particularly if he 
aspired to be considered a sovereign 
of good taste ; so that even the 
bucolical mind of good King George 
III. was moved within him to pur- 
chase, at a large price, the cabinet 
of Consul Smith, which he added to 
the small royal collection, mainly 
transmitted by Charles I. Emperors, 
empresses, conquerors, and philo- 
sophers were alike carried away by 



156 



OLD RINGS AND SEALS. 

A GOSSIP ABOUT ENGRAVED GEMS. 

By the Rev. R. H. Cave. 



FOR a nice quiet trotting or can- 
tering hobby horse, waiTanted 
sound and steady as an Episcopal 
cob, which shall carry its owner by 
the pleasantest by-paths and bridle- 
lanes of history, commend us to the 
study of antique engraved gems. 
To be sure it is not a hobby which 
can be ridden very fast or very far 
by the dwellers in remote country 
places. Old rings and seals are not 
to be found in any great quantities 
in agricultural districts, nor arc 
good collections of antique gems to 
be seen easily out of great towns 
and centres of civilisation — unless 
you happen to know some such 
country gentleman as he who has 
bought * the Marlborough Gems' 
in a lump. Still a good deal may 
be done in that way by any one 
who occasionally visits London and 
studies diligently Mr. King's books 
on *antiquegems' and other cognate 
subjects ; books of which the Hora- 
tian maxim will still hold good to 
the diligent gem collector: — *Noc- 
turnS. versate manu, versate diurna.' 
In fact, Mr. King has done more 
than any other living man to re- 
vive the study of a wholly extinct 
art, of an art which seems to be as 
irrevocably lost to us as the missing 
books of Livy, or the making of 
murrhine vases, or of the kuacas 
of the Incas. The collector of 
antique gems has at least this ad- 
vantage over all other collectors of 
antiques, that modem forgeries of 
old engravings upon stone are really 
too expensive to be made, and 
would, in fact, probably cost more 
than the originals. The collector 
of old china, for instance, has con- 
stantly to be on his guard against 
fra,ud ; there are so many traps 
laid to catch him. For him Goal- 
brookdale prepares its inimitable 



Chelsea vases and square 
Worcester. And to catch 
Wardour Street exhibits 
fine-lustred majolica ware 
and warranted to be by 
Georgio, of Gubbio), wl 
Marquis Ginori is so kindlj 
out for his benefit by the 
Doccia. And the buyer of 
knows well that iu garretj 
far from Wardour Street, 
Rembrandts are being cc 
boiled down for the inspi 
the unwary. But once 
learned to distinguish a st 
a paste, the gem-collectoi 
measure safe from impositi 
were told only the othe 
story in point by a Londoi 
who has an extensive and ii 
collection of antique gems 
anxious to see what could 
in this way by modern r 
gentleman commissioned 
seal-engraver he was ac 
with to execute a small 1 
him upon an onyx, after i 
Greek statue he had selec 
model. Having waited 
for nearly a year, he at k 
tained a pretty faithful, 
tame rendering of the orig 
had to pay for his little ge 
of about twenty-five poi 
which he might have p 
four or five good antique i 
the same kind. If the tast 
graved gems were to becom< 
able once more, as it was in 
teen th century, for instance, 
it is likely that a body of e 
would arise who might be a 
all the appliances of mode: 
turnout satisfactory forgeri 
munerative price. But at th 
time it certamly does not pa; 
antique gems. Even in . 
art has been well-nigh lost 



Old Bmga and Seals, 



159 



Lg, even from the earliest 
f which we will only in- 
hat of the High Priest's 
Ate. Originally executed 
500 years before Christ, 
ne directions concerning it 
fct the names of the twelve 
are to be engraved on two 
ones, six on each stone, 
e work of an engraver on 
ke the engravings of a 
so that at that time, at any 
I engraving on stones was 
mplished fact,* as our neigh- 
cross the Channel would 
5. This, however, must not 
funded with the ephod of 
eriod. Another breastplate 
e stones, many of them of 
t and hardest kind (sapphire 
)y), seems to have been 
: a later date, engraved, 
g to Josephus, * in the 
character.' And this may 

be recovered some day, 
3 golden candlesticks and 
mple furniture — which it is 
v^ere lost in the Tiber in the 

Titus — when schemes for 
out the mud of that yellow 
orical river shall have been 
into execution. It is not 
>le. Three-fourths of the 

engraved stones which 
he cabinets of European 
8 have been ploughed up 
) soil, or dredged up from 
"s of classical lands, after 
iried in a sleep of a thou- 
irs. 

Assyria employed cylinders 
ignets, Egypt, on the other 
lade use of the beetle, or 
is the shape in which all 
s were formed. And this 

the scarabaeoid form is 
doubtless symbolical. Was 
blem of the Sun- God which 
Al-worshippers would pay 
Dur to ? Had it any con- 
with Baalzebub, the lord 

and creeping insects and 

At any rate, it was copied 

yptby the Phcenicians, and 



so by way of Asia came to that 
strange, art-loving, clever, voluptuous 
race, the Etruscans, whose massive 
walls and rifled sepulchres are sub- 
jects of so much interest to the 
modern antiquary who contrives to 
visit the silent gloomy centres of 
old Etruscan life, the half-ruined 
cities of Chiusi, Caere, Vulci, and 
Tarquinium. 

Having reached Etruria, however, 
at a period of about five or six 
hundred years before the Christian 
era, we have gained the palmy and 
flourishing days of the glyptic art. 
From this time forth, for about a 
thousand years, until the decline 
and fall of the Roman Empire, the 
art of gem engraving continued at 
its best in Greece and Italy. It 
then died with the dying civilisation 
of the Latin races, and lay buried 
with European art for a thousand 
years, to be revived again by the 
great classical E/enaissance of the 
sixteenth century. The history of 
gem engraving is, in fact, the his- 
tory of civilisation. And the study 
of antique gems gives us peeps and 
glimpses of the old world forms of 
life, of worship, of thought, of 
feeling, which have been, perhaps, 
beneath * the dignity of history ' 
proper, but which wonderfully 
elucidate our view of those bygone 
days and men. 

In the Etruscan gem the form of 
the scarabaeoid is gradually lost, and 
from the mere seal to be hung round 
the neck, or as a bracelet suspended 
from the wrist, the engraved gem is 
used as a signet for the finger-ring. 
It is thenceforth set in gold, iron, 
or other metal, and worn in this 
way. An amusing myth is told of 
the origin of the finger-ring. When 
Jove released Prometheus from the 
bonds by which he had been con- 
fined, he condemned him, as a sort 
of penance — perhaps somewhat 
after the feishion of a modem ticket- 
of-leave — to wear upon his finger, 
as a ring, a link of the iron chain 
that had bound him to the Caucasian 



160 



Old Mings and Seals. 



[ 



rock, in which was set a fragment 
of that rock itself. In this way, so 
fable goes, the custom of the finger- 
ring originated. There is every 
reason to believe that this use of 
the engraved stone began with the 
Greeks, and from them was copied 
by their servile imitators, the 
Romans. It is every way a con- 
venient and a natural one ; and our 
grandfathers' custom of wearing 
their seals at the fob, as it was 
called, or hanging from the side 
pocket, was a recurrence to old As- 
syrian usages, which did not long 
hold its ground. 

The glyptic art may be said to 
have reached the perihelion of its 
perfection in the century which 
preceded and the century which 
followed the Christian era. Then 
flourished the most eminent gem 
engravers of antiquity, Pyrgoteles, 
Apollonides, Solon, Nausias, and 
others, names which were subse- 
quently forged with such impudent 
audacity under the direction of 
Prince Poniatowsky. It seems to 
be agreed upon, however, by the 
most eminent judges (Mr. King 
amongst the number) that only five 
authentic gems have come down to 
us from this period really bearing 
their engravers* signatures — the 
Diana of Apollonius; the Germanicus 
of Epitynchanus ; the Julia Titi of 
Evodus ; Jupiter overthrowing the 
Titans by Athenion ; and the Cupid 
of Protarchus. Of course there are 
hundreds of other genuine antique 
gems bearing signatures of one kind 
or other. But most of these signa- 
tures have probably been engraved 
upon the stones during the 
eighteenth century, the great age 
of forgery. In the gems of this 
period, whether camei or intagli, 
we have the human form delineated 
in its most perfect beauty. Group- 
ing, composition, and the skill of 
the engraver are all at their best, 
and whether in the great historic 
cameo of the Saint Chapelle, about 
a foot square, once pawned for 



2o,oooZ., or in that of the 
Museum, about eight inc 
nine, for which 6,oooZ. was ] 
the Emperor Rudolf the Se< 
in the little intaglio, the 
your finger nail, which yc 
buy for three or four guine 
of a respectable dealer, you \ 
that the human mind has be 
to conceive, or the hand of 
execute, in this branch of art 
is a certain class of subject! 
we find veiy fi^quently recui 
these gems of the classi 
favourite types of charact 
frequently selected for enc 
ment or warning. Of cou 
great Trojan epic furnishes 
number of these types : 
Achilles, Philoctetes, ^Hectoi 
ancient mythology, too, is 
called upon for subjects foi 
and the beauty of Venus 8 
majesty of the Dodonian 
equally find exposition up 
camei and intagli of Greece 
Romans were at no time an 
race. Warriors and colonists i 
they had to go to Greek art: 
what they wanted in pg 
sculpture, or engraving, anc 
said a poet of their own, in \ 
of peace the conquered peof 
captive its proud conquerors 
betrothal ring, the gem eu 
with clasped hands, or wi 
lovers standing hand in hand 
votive altar, with the star of 
above, is a subject very free 
met with on old Roman ge: 
also individual portraits, ; 
useful form of signet, and ) 
rate a favourite method in ev 
of the world by which vani 
fostered art. 

We have no time even to gl 
the decay of the glyptic art 
fourth and fifth centuries, 
worn-out and exhausted \ 
civilisation was dying wii 
dying Roman empire. Ij 
mighty grave of the world's 
and metropolis, with its 
monuments above, of mine 



Old Binge and Seals. 



161 



d column, ringed round 
lancholy purple of the 
]!ampagna, lay buried 
ikind then knew of art 
or well nigh a thousand 
ting sepulchre this for 
Lion, not of a single 
but of a whole European 

of resurrection was to 
heless, for the old classic 
id slept so soundly and 
r. Ruskin has told us 
t of all modern art is to 
the thirteenth century ; 
le fourteenth, fifteenth, 
hh centuries are respec- 
ts of thought, of draw- 
painting. It is, at any 
t that from the four- 
the sixteenth centuries 

wonderful stirring and 
of the human mind in 
lS a branch of the fine 
engraving seemed sud- 
•ing into full and vigo- 
in, without even a child- 
Bakness and hesitancy, 
ijrravers of the fifteenth 
taly worked in the spirit 
[ue, and not merely as 
ators of the old models 
nd Rome. Much of this 
the artistic life in Italy 
3 patronage of the Medici 
)f those great Italian pon- 
ook off, with the Gothic 
he sadness also and q:loom 
ous spirit of the North, 
lat fostering patronage 
that adorn and beautify 

up again from ground 
en long fast locked in its 
), like spring blossoms in 
rs and woodlands under 
Bun. We may say un- 
that the gem engravings 
issance are as fine, on the 
those of the Greek and 
iod, especially the camei. 
inguishing the one from 
70 have to look rather to 
I employed and the con- 
e stone, than to the skill 

—NO. LXVUI. NEW SERIES. 



of 'the artist workman. Collectors 
of engraved gems should lose no 
opportunity of obtaining good works 
of the Italian Renaissance. From 
that time the art continued to be 
practised after a fitful and desultory 
manner, till it once more blazed 
forth into a bright flame, under the 
foolish and indiscriminative patron- 
age of the eighteenth century ; and 
then as suddenly the flame flickered 
and died out. At the present time 
the art of gem engraving seems to 
be wholly lost. We have briefly 
traced the history of the glyptic art, 
an art which has handed down to 
us so many monuments of the best 
periods of Greece and Rome, when 
all art was at its best. For that 
spirit — the artistic spirit of the age 
of Phidias and Zeuxis, which the 
shattered marbles of Egina could 
not retain, which has faded for ever 
from the walls of Athens and 
Corinth, and only purvives elsewhere 
in a few broken bas-reliefs and mu- 
tilated statues — still exists for the in- 
spection of the curious and the ad- 
miration of the wise in those precious 
gems — more precious than if of dia- 
mond or sapphire, because instinct 
with man's genius and informed with 
his spirit, which the care of the col- 
lector has rescued from the spoiling 
hand of time. It exists in its full 
perfection, in a material which is, 
practically, indestructible; in minia- 
ture, indeed ; but to thinking people 
size and space are no gods. And it 
exists in a form which puts the pos« 
session of it within the reach of most 
of us. The collecting of antique 
gems was a passion with educated 
people a hundred years ago. And 
we venture to predict, that as soon 
as the subject begins to be better 
understood it ^vill become so again. 
We purpose to give a few hints 
to that end which may be of service 
to any one who is interested in the 
subject. 

fii the first place, for the collect- 
ing of gems, London is undoubtedly 
the best head- quarters. To London 

N 



162 



Old Bmge and Seals. 



I 



as the omphalos of civilisaiion and 
"wealth, ultimately gravitates most 
of the fine art of Europe. Befngees 
bring with them small and portable 
articles of this kind, which are sure 
to find their way in the end to the 
pawnbroker or the auction room. 
And engraved gems have been so 
much dispersed during the various 
Continental houleversementa of so- 
cieiy, that often rare and genuine 
antiques may be picked up in the 
most unlikely and out-of-the-way 
places, so that the veriest ignorance 
of the freshest tyro may sometimes 
unconsciously light upon a glyptic 
treasure. Indeed, in this, as in other 
things, it often seems as if the 
gamblers' creed were true, that for- 
tune favours the neophyte at the 
expense of the well experienced. 
It is this uncertainty of the pursuit 
which gives it its greatest charm. 
For gem collecting is like fishing in 
this, that the excitement lies rather 
in the possibilities of the sport than 
in the dull reality of the catch. 
Few men would become fishermen 
if they knew precisely beforehand 
the size and weight of the fish they 
were about to bring to land. The 
poor average little troutlings which 
make up the fisherman's usual bas- 
ket, in English and Welsh streams 
at least, would scarcely lure him to 
the waterside; but there is always 
the chance of a sea trout, or of a big 
three or four pounder to fill the 
creel. And this is enough to keep 
up the excitement of the pursuit. 
And so in the buying of gems, as a 
rule the purchaser may look over a 
miscellaneous lot of cornelian and 
other stones which the jeweller or 
curiosity dealer has amassed from 
old rings and seals, without finding 
anything to arrest his attention or 
reward nis search. But then, on 
the other hand, he may occasionally 
stumble on a good engraving which 
will recompense him for all the 
tronble he lias gone through. In 
this way ihe present writer not long 
since, in looking over a trayfol of 



stones engraved with initi 
crests, exposed for sale on i 
able stall in a back street 
from the Strand, found i 
them a finely polished 1 
Tiberius Caesar cut on on 
dently a contemporary poi 
good Roman work, and it c 
exactly a shilling ! Occaj 
too, good things may be f 
small jewellers' shops in the ( 
The goldsmith, only caring 
gold of the old-faishioned 
ring that has come in h 
throws aside in a drawer tL 
that has been set in it "vi 
melts down the metal. 1 
have, even in the wilds of 1 
shire, met with good antiqi 
in this way. 

The first knowledge wh 
neophyte of gem collecting 
acquire, is the faculty of 
guishing a paste &om a 
Probably in his noviciate 
have to purchase his exp 
and perhaps to purchase it 
as there are many moden 
imitations current of good g 
well as a few antique paste 
have, of course, an interest > 
own, and are always worth 
As a rule, pastes which arc 
to deceive are backed witL 
and a young collector wi 
with suspicion on any geoi 
is so presented to him. Th 
however, various ways of 
pastes from stones. Put i 
to your tongue, and a real st 
be cold, whilst the imitati 
well, let us say — tepid. Of 
the file will at once distingi 
tween the real and the 
paste on being filed leaving 
stain on the file, whilst i 
only makes it shine. But : 
dealer would allow you to 
face of a gem ; and pastes ai 
rally backed, so that the c 
will have some difficulty in a 
this test. But the time w 
dually come — that is to sa; 
is ardent in the pursuit — ii 



Old Bmgs <md Seals, 



163 



nrceive the difiference between 
and pastes at a glance, in- 
7ely : he can scarcely tell you 
nt the &calty comes by prac- 
nst like any other acquired 
Then another mode of de- 
3, against which he must be 
guard, is the having modem 
es, real stones engraved in the 
}ntury, foisted upon him as 
and Roman work. Amongst 
st experiences in this way he 
e pretty sure to come upon 
very highly priced and ex- 
gly handsome Poniatowsky 
which adorn the windows and 
ts of second-rate London 
lealers. He examines them 
Uy, perhaps tests them with 
3, which in this instance the 

seller kindly invites him to 
V. little knowledge is for him, 
er, a dangerous thing; and, 
a off his guard by finding 
lis is a real stone, and a fine 
dthal, and very beautifally 
red, and that it is signed in 
with the name of Pyrgoteles, 
on, or some other great gem 
irer, he at once hastens to con- 
;he bargain, and hurries home 
lis treasure, to discover, too 
bat he has given a quadruple 
for that which is, after all, a 
harming forgery. In fact, if 
ilful artists of the Poniatowsky 
had only signed their own 

to those excellent works of 
eir productions would by this 
lave been at a premium in 
arket, instead of being con- 
lously put aside by all who 
} to understand the subject, 
collector, however, in due 
of time, taught by dearly pur- 
l experience, and by observ- 
her people's mistakes — * felix 
aciunt aliena pericula cautum ' 

gradually learn to distin- 
antique from modeiTi engrav- 
m stones. He will find that 
is a sort of mist upon the 
9 of antique gems, as if the 

bad been breathed upon. 



caused by numerous microscopic 
scratchings, the wear and tear of 
ages, and partially dulling even the 
highly polished cuttings of the old 
engravers, which unmistakably dis- 
tinguishes the old from the new. 
In time he will be able at a glance 
to tell whether the cutting is of 
Etruscan, or Greek, or Soman ori- 
gin. His classical reading, too, 
will go a great way in helping him 
to enter into the spirit of the 
genuine antique work. And every 
now and then he will come upon 
some little bit of Homer, or Virgil, 
or Hesiod, petrified, so to speak, 
in the antique gem, which will won- 
derfully refresh the classical memo- 
ries of his younger days. 

But a matter of not the least 
interest to the collector of engraved 
gems is the fact that his pursuit 
will often make him acquainted 
with persons whose acquaintance is 
well worth making. As a rule, 
gem collectors are a clever, keen, 
and perhaps rather an eccentric race, 
given to old-world opinions, living 
often very much in past time, and 
out of the influence of bustling, 
pnshiBg, noisy mneteenth centmy 
life. To the present writer it is 
always refreshing to meet with new 
types of character, with men who 
are not all turned out of the same 
mould, and who do not all wear the 
same dress, speak the same speech, 
and think the same thoughts (bor- 
rowed from the morning's news- 
paper) as their fellow men. And 
to do this it is necessary to go out of 
the beaten tracks of modem civi- 
lised life. Plenty of such people 
may be met with amongst the 
buyers and sellers of antique gems. 
Would the reader like to make the 
acquaintance of Mr. Cohen Hertzog, 
for instance ? This is not his real 
name, indeed, but it will sufficiently 
indicate that gentleman's nationality 
and race. Let us then turn outof the 
Square with which all travelling 
Europe is pretty well acquainted, 
that Leicester Square where whilom 

TX 2 



164 



Old Bmgs and Seals. 



[Angnst 



Hogarih lived and Reynolds, and 
many another of high celebrity. 
We diverge into a little by-street, or 
ratber lane, of poor mean bouses, 
which seem given up to darkness 
and to dirt. Into one of the darkest 
and dirtiest of these, with its small 
shop window absolutely plastered 
with the mud of many years, we 
enter, glancing carelessly as we 
pass in at the various small wares 
of antiquity ; the old silver watches, 
the old miniatures (possibly you may 
some day make the acquaintance of 
the painter who turns out these 
antiques — in his sober moments), 
the old snuff boxes, and, lastly, the 
old gems which glitter and sparkle 
in various trays. But these are by 
no means the ware which we are in 
search of, or in which Mr. Hertzog's 
soul delights. These are Delilahs fit 
only to captivate the eyes of youth- 
ful and ignorant admirers. We shall 
find better gems than these within. 
In the gloomy recesses of the 
little shop, to which scarcely any 
rays of the scanty London daylight 
are suffered to penetrate, we stand 
for a moment looking round upon 
the wonderful odds and ends of 
antiquity of a bric-a-brac dealer. 
But in a minute or two, to us, there 
enters from an inner room a little 
man with a big intellectual head, 
who courteously bids us welcome, 
and invites us into his parlour. Mr. 
Hertzog is a German, indeed, by 
birth, but a cosmopolitan by virtue 
of race ; for the Hebrew is not of 
this nation or of that, but of all 
peoples and kindreds and tongues. 
And this specimen of the race 
shows the finely cut face and all 
the hiffh-bred courtesy of manner 
which distinguish a people who 
have the best blood of the world in 
their veins. A little old man, with 
high, wrinkled forehead and long 
white beard ; a black velvet skull- 
cap upon his head ; keen eyes that 
sparkle like his diamonds, and an 
intellect as sharp and vif as the 
file with which he tests them. 



'Yon take one cigar?' he says; 
and soon, with the gas lighted 
above us, and a little velvet-covered 
tray of fine gems on the table before 
us, we are engaged in discnssiDg 
all the mysteries of the glyptic 
art. And here Mr. Hertzog be- 
comes even eloquent in praise of 
his favourite study, to which he 
has devoted a lifetime. He has, 
we have learned incidentally else- 
where, refused something like i^en 
thousand pounds for his fine collec- 
tion of antique gems amassed whilst 
these things were little cared for, 
during the first half of the present 
century. He will, however, sell 
you — we mean no pun — if you are 
very green indeed, a fine Ponia- 
towsky or two out of the tray in 
the shop window ; or if he really 
takes a liking to you, he will let 
you have for a consideration a. 
genuine antique now and again, 
from the little trays lined witb. 
purple velvet of his privato cabinet 
within. But it is worth any money 
to hear him discuss the subject froux 
his own point of view. 

* Ach ! ' he says, patting us upon 
the back encouragingly, as we select 
a fine Roman engraving of the 
Republic — an Orthryades tracing 
with his own blood as he dies, 

* Victory ' upon his enemy's shield- 

* Ach ! you have ze taste for z© 
true antique. But dis schwine of 
a modem peoples * — so, indeed, l»® 
designated you, my enlightened 
British public of the nineteentb 
century ! — * dey care for noting 
at all but five tings in de wi<J® 
world.' Acd here checking ^P 
these five things seriatim upon t*^ 
fingers, with wonderful gestical^^ 
tion and shrugging of shouldet^» 
he went on, * De cow ' — ^meaniug"* * 
suppose, agriculture — *de horse /^^ 
Epsom— do shoot — de drink' (tip' 
ping up his hand with an imagin»^ 
dram), and lastly, as he gets to tb^ 
little finger, raising his voice Biltaost 
to a shriek, casting his arms wil« V 
around .him, and pointing to th^ 



Impreadons of Madeira, 



167 



the friends I foand at 
ere determined I should 
e. After break&st we 
on horseback, some on 
lother in a hammock, to 
9 volcanic ravines by 
city is intersected, and 
tend from the central 
juntains. We went up 
paved street, between 
we arrived at a water 
the side of which we 

ravine. In the after- 
)de to a small prettily 
ock, lying to the north- 
ichal, called the Pico do 
cm which wo had a 

the mountain view it 
ands. 

irst impression produced 
i was, I confess, one of 

disappointment. This 
)s, partly produced by 
?, on my arrival, of one of 
•equent mists which veil 
ins, and descend so low 
a canopy hardly above 
; quintas — as the bril- 
ened country houses 
;lial residents are called. 
: imagine the striking 

the island when first 

a voyage from the 
d the mountains be un- 
covered only sufficiently 
rtion of their loveliness, 
lot fortunate enough to 
n this state, and even 

beheld them I should 
ilt some disappointment, 
ith side of the island, 
there are many defects 
beauty, and in all that 
» produce the feeling of 

and delight which is 
m. the enjoyment of na- 
ts various details. Some 
fects are common to the 
d, but others are espe- 
cteristic of its southern 
^herd is, in that part of 
king and lamentable 
>f trees, and of all really 
s. The volcanic ravines 



are arid and repulsive. There is 
no comeliness o)r beauty of fbrm 
in them. They are seams which 
nature may not have had time to 
clothe with decency ; for Madeira, 
geologically, is not only very young, 
bnt, being a self-formed island, 
and having never been a part o£ 
a continent, it has never enjoyed 
the advantages of physical con- 
tinental intercourse. Man, in- 
deed, has built np terraces to hold 
the soil, and covered every nook 
and vantage ground with vines and 
sugar-canes, yams, and other nsefol 
vegetable products ; and man, too, 
has imported and transplanted into 
his quinta garden many a gor- 
geous flower, and many a splendid 
tree and shrub from tropical and 
other climates ; and many of 
these have become wild, and grow 
profusely on walls and other sepa- 
rating boundaries of cultivation. 
Scattered plentifully in these arid 
ravines are many naturalised spe- 
cies of cactus, more remarkable 
for their singularity and ugliness 
than for any other quality, and 
vines cover every available patch 
of soil. But of really indigenous 
and Beautiftil wild flowers there 
is a mighty dearth, and the gene- 
ral effect is an uninteresting bare- 
ness. 

He who loves the beauty of an 
English flowery lane, the varied 
colours of an English wood, the 
emerald and golden hue of an 
English pasture, or the richly 
painted loveliness of a many- 
flowered Alpine mountain-slope, 
will not find such charms in die 
neighbourhood of Funchal. Else- 
where, in the island, he will find 
some of these beauties, along witii 
others partly making up for the ab- 
sence of the rest. But he wiU not find 
them in the southern districts of 
Madeira. A brilliant sun, which no 
doubt is &r more frequent in Ma- 
deira than in our northern climes, 
also compensates, to a considerable 
extent, for the loss of some of these 



168 



Impressions of Madeira, 



[Angnit 



elements of natural beauty. But 
it does not entirely supply their 
place: and the bareness of the 
neighbourhood of Fiinchal, com- 
bined with the difficulty of escaping 
from high-walled thoroughfares — 
and, indeed, of locomotion alto- 
gether — were no doubt the causes 
which produced at first a feeling of 
disappointment with Madeira. 

On the other hand, the gardens 
of the quintas — which are almost 
peculiar to the south of the island — 
are often exceedingly beautiful. 
They are usually a blaze of colour. 
Everything grows and blossoms 
with a luxuriance unknown to the 
moi'e temperate — and, may 1 add, 
more friendly — north. Geraniums 
grow to a height of twenty feet aud 
more in a few months, aud must 
be cut down yearly to prevent 
their straggling into useless exu- 
berance. Strange tropical exotics 
are here naturalised. Bananas, 
camphor- trees, nettle- trees, palms, 
and gum-trees, with many others, 
are found in these delicious gardens, 
while lilies, daturas, bougainvilleas, 
and flowers too numerous to men- 
tion, decorate the neighbourhood of 
every house, however humble. 

But even here — even in these 
quinta gardens — Nature is nig- 
gardly, or rather has not had time 
to do for Madeira what she has 
done for larger areas. All is 
silence ! or so nearly so that the 
sounds one hears serve rather to 
increase the oppressive feeling of 
want of life than make one per- 
ceive its presence. Hardly a bird 
carols forth its joyous song, or 
even twitters in the trees; hardly 
a butterfly flutters among the 
flowers, hardly a beetle crosses the 
path. The hum of bees is almost 
unknown, and the mysterious har- 
mony of myriads of buzzing in- 
sects* wings — so charming in an 
English wood — in Madeira is never 
heard. All seems silent, all seems 
dead! 

My readers will, I fear, be weary 



of my picture of tho shortoomingB 
of Madeira, and thoy may, perhaps, 
come to the conclusion that I am 
insensible to its charms. I will 
therefore now attempt to paint the 
other side of the shield. As I have 
already said, I leave detailed de- 
scriptions of ' Mountaineering in 
Madeira ' to an abler pen ; but I 
shall endeavour to enable those who 
have not visited the island to under- 
stand and appreciate its beauties 
and general appearance by giv- 
ing an account of two excursiuns 
which took me over the greater part 
of it, preceded by a few general 
remarks, which may correct pre- 
valent errors, and give a compre- 
hensive view of its principal cha- 
racteristics. 

Firstly, Madeira is not tropical 
It may seem unnecessary to make 
so obvious a remark ; but there 
are so many people who expect to 
find in the island a tropical indi- 
genous vegetation, tropical birds, 
and tropical insects, that it is as 
well to state plainly that they will 
find nothing of the kind. 

Secondly, Madeira has no per- 
manently flowing rivers. The W- 
heirosy or rivers, are, except after 
heavy rains, mere watercourses, of 
which many are usually quite dry, 
and the others contain nothing 
more than a mere rivulet of wat€r. 
During the whole of my excursions 
in Madeira I never saw a stream 
which deserved the name of any- 
thing but a brook. I, however, 
crossed many substantial bridges, 
which showed that these brooks 
occasionally become dangerous tor- 
rents. Nor is there a single lake 
in Madeira, and indeed I did not 
see even one single pond in the 
whole island. 

The cause of this absence is evi- 
dently tlie porous character of the 
volcanic soil. There are, as I shall 
describe, waterfalls and water- 
courses. None of the former are 
really copious, except after rain. 
The latter, called levadas^ must to 



] 



Impressions of Madeira. 



1€9 



ain extent rob the rivers, for 
rater which would naturally 
Qto the ribeiros is almost en- 
diverted into them. ' The in- 
ints rely on them for irrigating 
altivated soil, and principally 
Eor the water supply of the 
IS, both in and out of the 
kl and the villages. Every 
1 with a garden or cultivated 
of ground is supplied with 
for a definite number of 
weekly from the leimda. 
3anty remnants of the streams 
I find their way into the water- 
38 are used for washing. 
vas unable to explore the 
3S of any of the waterfalls or 
3 rivers, but I am inclined to 
that they must be derived 
pally from surface drainage, 
bt the existence of any real 

other point to which attention 
esirabJy be called is the natural 
Dn of the islaiul into four dis- 
districts. There is, first, the 
bourhoud of Funchal and the 
of the southern district. This 
iless and arid, but richly vine- 
full of quiutas and gardens 
} ueiglibourhood of the C'ty, 
Dt lovely to an admirer of na- 
1 its wilder state. Next comes 
entre, full of mountains, re- 
ible for precipices aud jagged 
, enclosing fertile valleys, and 
n all that delights the moun- 
r, and furnishes food for the 
Then follows the North, 
nountainous, but more luxn- 
Y fertile, with far wider areas 
bivated ground, thickly peopled 
3 tillers of the soil, with dark, 
ly-wooded ravines opening 
•ingly from the sea, and 
ling into wide regions of cul- 
)n hemmed in by mountains 
recipices. Lastly, there is the 
North- Western, undulating, 
r, cattle-covered plain, called 
aiil da Serra, whoso height is 
with the tops of all but the 
st mountains, and is acces- 



sible by only the roughest, steepest 
ti^acks. 

My first long excursion was to 
Santa Anna, a villajj:e in a lovely, 
thickly-peopled district of the north. 
My point of departure was Santa 
Cruz, a pleasant seaside hamlet on 
the east of Funchal, to which in- 
valids resort as a health-giving 
change from the more enervating 
air of the capital city, and whither 
I had gone, accompanied by some 
friends requiring change of air, be- 
fore embarking for England. Santa 
Cruz has no extraordinary charms. 
But the sea-breezes are somewhat 
refreshing, and the views of the great 
Atlantic Ocean, fifty feet below the 
shady terrace of the humble but 
comfortable inn, and of the group 
of barren islands, about ten miles 
distant, called the Desertas — some- 
times glowing like fire when the 
sun is sinking in the west, and 
sometimes deeply purple in the 
earlier day — are always beautiful to 
look at, and make Santa Cruz one 
of the treasures of the memory. 

Afrer slaying for a few days at 
this little place, my Alpine fi-iend 
and I set out for a three days' 
excursion to the eastern north, 
accompanied by two of the ladies of 
our party during part of the first 
day's journey. We all set out on 
horseback, each accompanied by a 
hurrlqaeiro^ as the attendants of the 
horses are here called. The word 
means, literally, an ass-driver, as 
the more familiar word muleteer 
means one who guides or drives a 
mule. But in Madeira there are 
very few asses or mules, and tra- 
vellers always ride horses. The 
word describing their attendant has, 
however, been retained, while the 
beast himself is no longer that from 
which its attendant's name was ori- 
ginally derived. 

This was a beginning somewhat 
different from the accustomed prac- 
tice of an Alpine tmveller ; but 
the idea of walking in Madeira as 
one would in Switzerland is sim- 



w 



Impreigioiis o/Madeiri 



^ ly abaunl. Walking enough, and 
rough walking enough, any travel- 
ler in Madeira must have, and con- 
sequently alpine well-nailed boota 
are indispensable ; but walking 
thi-oughont a journey is what no 
man who knows Madeira would 
ever dream of. 

Well, we all started, monuted on 
oar excelleat rough-shod, sure- 
footed horses, and each hiu-rtqumro 
provided with the indispensable sup- 
ply of nails, hammer, and pincers. 

The first thousand feet of ascent 
from the sea-coast in the southern 
districts of Madeira is, almost in- 
variably, simply detestable. It is 
always very ateep, and is either 
paved with round pebbles or long 
and narrow flat stones, or else it is a 
mass of rocks and stones of every size 
and of eveiy possible inconvenience 
of form. Although somewhat 
broken in to these roods by riding 
about the steep and slippery streets 
of Fnnchal, wo often preferred to 
dismount and walk. Our road here, 
unlike those about Fnnchal, was not 
closed in by walls, and we had good 
views of the sea and of the far- 
stretching, rocky eastern end of the 
island. At length, as we approached 
thevilla^e of Santo AntoniodaSerra, 
we got into finer scenery and finer 
vegetation. Tlie mountain-sides 
were ablaze with broom in full 
flower, and wo rode through a long 
lane of fuchsias, geraniums, bilber- 
ries, and the tree heath (JJWca ar- 
horea), reaching iar above onr heads. 
Before arriving at the village we 
passed under the side of the very 
perfect crater, called Lagoa (Incite) 
troia the pool sometimes found there, 
of au extinct volcano, 2,239 ^^^^ 
above the sea, which we had visited 
few days before. We then wound 
ir way among pines (P. maritimm), 
00m, and geraniums till wo 
reached the summit of the Lamo* 
ceiros Pass, at the height of abont 
2,500 feet. 

Here we had our first view of 
the northern coast, and here the 



^_ abovi 

^»fev> 

^Pbrooi 



character of the soenery finC 
totally to change. To the east Uw 
rocky coast stretched away in vaned 
form. Below us, close to the sea, 
lay the village of Porto da Cnu, 
to the westward of which rose « 
mighty mass of rock, 3,00a fbei 
above the sea, called the Penht 
d'Agnia or ' Eagle's Rock,' inaccn- 
sible from all sides bat one, standiog 
apart like the Bock of Gibraltar, 
and joined to the mainland by low- 
lying, richly-cultivated land fuH of 
habitations. Beneath ns, the hiOs, 
here steep and laurel- clad, tad 
there long vine- covered voIcmc 
ridges separating the nnmerciiu 
ravines descending from the motu- 
tains, slo])ed in every varying fbnu 
towards the sea, while far away ibn 
island of Porto Santo plimioeradiD 
the sun. Thevillagc of Fayol lavbe- 
neath us under the Penba ; its white 
church gleamed brightly on the hi!lj 
above it, and far away to the weft- 
ward stretched tlie precipitoM 
rocks and mountains among wbioh 
lay the pass to Santa Anna, OOX 
intended destination. The scene 
was splendid. Hero the ladies left 
us, and we pursued our coutBe, 

The descent was steep and ron^ 
and wo, therefore, walked till m 
came to the volcanic, vine-covered 
ridges. We then remounted, aai 
rode along paths among vines and 
sugar-canes, on narrow levada walllt 
among flower-anrronnded cotton, 
all the while winding round tie 
precipices of the 'Eagle's Bock' 
until we reached Fayal. 

After passing the streani of the 
Ribeiro Secco the road again beADs 
very bad, and I therefore walked, 
while my companion rode on in gntt 
discomfort up the road to Fsg^ 
Church, which was very like thB 
bed of a torrent. At one corner hi* 
horse seemed resolutely bent on 
taking refuge in a sort of cottage, 
bnt he was steered into his right 
conrse again ; and after a time, and 
for a while, we both rode on in 
comparative comfort. 



Impressions of Madeira, 



171 



scenery was very fine, and, 
opinion of my companion, 
lows the Cornice road (which 
)t), ftilly equalled — or even 
d — that celebrated route. At 
we approached the magni- 
jrecipice of the Punta Cor- 
md were soon committed to 
up one of the most horrible 
for horse-travelling we met 
)n the island. On our left 
precipice, on our right de- 
d a precipitous slope of from 
o 1, 800 feet to the sea. The 
hich was not more than seven 
t feet wide, was as steep as the 
a house, and smoothly paved 
mg and narrow stones, oBTord- 
Qost difficult foothold to any 
not shod, as ours were, with 
umed-up heels, and with 
large rough nails projecting 
»ch shoe. There was, too, 
rapet. When once we had 
I, to stop was impossible. 
hurriqiLeiros screamed like 
5, the horses struggled with 
eir might, but never got 
;ned ; we hung on grimly to 
manes, until, after a few 
»d yards of fierce exertion, 
kched a resting place, and 
dismounted. A short walk 
it us to the summit of the 
la Pass. We looked down on 
inha d'Aguia and the long 
L coast of the island on one 
ind on the lovely fertile up- 
edleys of Arcadia, as I could 
frain from calling the neigh- 
K)d of Santa Anna, on the 
We wound down pine- 
i hills till we approached the 
ed hamlet., and it would be 
it to imagine a greater con- 
[lan that between the lovely 
y we were now entering and 
id southern districts of Ma- 
neighbourhood of Santa 
seemed to me more nearly a 
tion of the poet's Arcadia 
my place I had ever seen. 
>Q— now full of vines, com, 



yams, bamboos, and sugar-canes, but 
before the failure of the vines, in 
1855, densely covered with Spanish 
chestnuts, with vines climbing from 
tree to tree — ^is fertile beyond imagi- 
nation. The land is thickly inhabited 
by a quiet, peaceful people, capable, 
however, of being roused to fury. 
Their picturesque huts, reminding 
one of those of the South Sea is- 
landers in Cook's voyages — ^roofed 
with long-ridged, steep-pitched 
thatch, fenced in with bamboos, 
surrounded and covered with fuch- 
sias and geraniums — almost crowd 
the ground ; and the paths, no 
longer steep and stony, but smooth 
and of a rich red colour, wander 
among chestnuts, and vines, and 
hedges of box, geranium, and fuch- 
sia, intermixed with ferns and me- 
sembryanthemums. 

The immediately surrounding 
scenery is not grand, but yet not 
wholly devoid of grandeur. The range 
of the Pico Ruivo,the highest moun- 
tain in the island, and rather more 
than 6,000 feet above the sea, rises 
in the background ; the various 
headlands of the precipitous sea- 
coast are here continually visible, 
and the majestic Atlantic rolls 
sonorously beneath. 

In this charming land we re- 
mained for two nights. We 
were lodged • in the spacious 
home of Senhor Acciaioli, a Portu- 
guese gentleman, whom the res 
angicsta induced to convert his 
country house into an hotel. We 
should be both unjust and ungrate- 
ful not to record our sense of the 
well-bred courtesy of our host, 
of the clean comfort of his rooms, 
and of his successful anxiety to pro- 
vide for our requirements ; nor can 
we forget his love for chess and 
whist. The house stands command- 
ingly visible for miles around, on a 
little hillock about 1,200 feet above 
the sea, and has a charming garden, 
with beautiful views of the surround- 
ing country and of the precipitous 
sea-coast. Of one thing the Senhor 



172 



Impressions of Madeira. 



[ 



is particularly prond. It is his 
ackada, or cultivated plain, a fertile 
tract of about loo acres covered 
with grain crops. 

Our principal object in visiting 
Santa Anna was to ascend the Pico 
Ruivo, but the Senhor doubted 
whether it would be sufficiently 
clear. The range was cloud-covered 
on our arrival, but it cleared be- 
fore sunset, and we had a fine view 
of the mountain, whose form how- 
ever on this northern side is some- 
what poor and tame. Wo retired 
to rest under promise from the 
Senhor to call us early if the weather 
looked propitious ; but he left us to 
our slumbers until we rose of our 
own accord. There had been rain 
in the early morning ; the mists still 
hung over the hills, and gave no 
sign of dispersing. We, therefore, 
made an "excursion to the Arco San 
Jorge, one of the many picturesque 
ravines of the northern coast. The 
sea-sprinkled rocks, as wo descended 
into one ravine and mounted up 
another, were absolutely painted 
with those thick-leaved plants com- 
monly known under the name of 
house-leeks in England, but which 
botanists describe as belonging to 
the genus Sempervivmn in the family 
Grdssuldcece, They grew in such 
profusion that one overlapped the 
other, and with a luxuriance un- 
equalled at Kew or in other gardens. 
The crown of an ordinary hat in- 
adequately represents their size. 
Their outer tint was a rich brown- 
ish red, fading insensibly into ten- 
der green towards the centre, where 
the leaves formed a crown of the 
same colour, but of a brighter hue. 
Few were in flower, but the beauty 
of the plant is in its leaves, and not 
in its flowers. 

From the Arco we looked down 
on the Entroza Pass, a narrow ledge 
on the face of the precipice, beyond 
which was the fertile landslip of 
the Punta Delgada, while far away 
the sea-coast stretched along to 
Porto Moniz, the extreme north- 
western point of the island. 



The following day we set 
our way back to Santa Cms 
the first few miles we rod 
shady lanes, the soil richly i 
the road beautifully kept. ^ 
descended by zig-zags into t 
ravine of the Ribeiro Secc 
which we again mounted ai 
descended first into the Ribi 
tade, then into the Ribeiro I 
afterwards up and down int 
whose size is insufficient tc 
them to a name on the map 
appeared more beautiful t 
other. We had entered into 
different region from any 
yet seen. We were among < 
wooded ravines. There wer 
any wild flowers, and the tre 
not large. In another disi 
another excursion, we wen 
much finer trees. Here th 
low in height, but they cor 
covered the ground. The: 
tall heath- trees, from tw 
thirty feet in height; but the i 
of the trees were the louro 
nohilis)^ mixed occasional! 
another species of island 
called the vinhatico (Persea 

The beauty of the scene 
minated at the little ha 
Crusinhas, whence we look 
a labyrinth of dark precipil 
vines, formed by the gorges 
central group of mountains 
peaks, fortunately nearly un 
for a time, resembled in tb 
tastic jaggedness those of tl 
mites. But their sides being 
wooded with the sparkling 
and the ravines themselv< 
tortuous, we — I will hardlj 
luctantly — came to the co 
that even the Dolomitic gorg 
not equal them. There was 
the splendid rock-colouring 
Dolomites ; but for wooded 
of deep mysterious gloom, c 
ing from pinnacled mounta 
a great question whether Ty: 
not yield to Madeira. 

On this day we had on 
disappointment. We had 1 
to walk along the levada dc 



Impressians of Madeira, 



173 



course that winds in and 
1 these ravines, and is tun- 
arough one of their ridges, 
rates into their very heart, 
s therefore into the finest 
But our hurriqiieiro had 
jrstood that we wished to 
t, and indeed we ought to 
*ne so from Santa Anna, 
w^ould not have allowed us 
dong the levada and return 
ute during the journey from 
inna to Santa Cruz. He 
we intended to visit the 
)f the Ribeiro Frio, and 
le took us shortly after our 
it the bridge at the latter 
We climbed up a steep hill- 
then proceeded along the 
the levada. We passed a 
owering mass of thickly- 
inaccessible rock, divided 
by a narrow ravine, and 
uetrated to some distance 
the deep gorges of the 
B^up of mountains. The 
le Fayal was traceable on 
)site side, winding thread- 
ng the ravines. Our view 
y magnificent, but it was 
that the scenery of the un- 
ivada must be finer still, 
jturning to our road we 
near the bridge by the 
be stream, and then wound 
up to the Poizo, a wild 
upland district, somewhat 
ng the Paiil da Serra, but 
aller scale, with sheep and 
3wsing on the scanty grass, 
d-boar-looking pigs, with 
e bristles along the whole 
)f their backs, uprooting 
lets of the meagre soil in 
)f not too frequent roots, 
in sides and lanky legs bore 
y to the scarcity of their 

lis wild upland district, 
coo feet above the sea, we 
eloped in a cold mist, and 
and rode along for miles 
seeing anything except the 
aced to guide the traveller. 



At length we began to descend, and 
soon reached splendid sunshine. 
We again walked and rode alter- 
nately, passing through a copse of 
tall bilberry bushes (a large shrubby 
vaccinium), and then among sheets 
of brilliant broom flowers, until wo 
again reached the village of San 
Antonio da Serra, again passed 
under the Lagoa crater, and so 
returned to Santa Craz. 

Our next excursion to the north 
was made after our return to 
Funchal, and on this occasion it was 
the north-west of the island that 
we intended to visit. We were to 
lodge for three nights at Sao 
Vicente, the only place in the island 
beside Santa Anna and Santa Cruz 
where travellers can stay without 
much previous arrangement. My 
friend and I were to be accompanied 
by the Rev. J. J. Hewitt, the English 
chaplain, the most experienced 
mountaineer of the island. 

Our first day was to be a long 
journey. We were to go through 
the Grand Curral, then over the Tor- 
rinhas Pass, or Bocca das Torrinhas, 
then down the gorge of Boa Ventura, 
and afterwards along the sea-coast 
to Sao Vicente. By the map it is not 
more than twenty-one miles, as the 
crow flies — but it took us thirteen 
hours to arrive at our destination. 
We left Funchal at 7.30 a.m. and 
rode up steep paved roads between 
walls but under trellised vines, until 
we reached higher and more open 
ground. We then saw before us a 
finely-wooded ridge covered with 
well-grown pine-trees, among which 
lay our route. Shortly after pass- 
ing through this grove we rode along 
a level grassy road winding among 
the gorges of the mountains. We 
went through laurel thickets look- 
ing down steep but wooded preci- 
pices into the Soccoridos Valley, 
2,000 feet beneath us. Our 
path then wound round the inner 
circumference of a perfect horse- 
shoe, and after passing what may 
be termed its toe, it became 



174 



Imjfyressuma of Madeira. 



snflicieiitly narrow to make it 
pleasanter to walk than ride. We 
remounted, and rode and walked 
alternately, sometimes down rocky 
steps and sometimes np equally 
troublesome ascents, still looking 
down into the Soccoridos, while on 
the opposite side rose the splendid 
peaks, precipices, and gorges of the 
Encumiada Pass, behind and among 
which lay the route by which we 
were to return to Funchal at the end 
of our expedition. We then again 
ascended, and after a time reached 
the Eira do Serrado, which was the 
summit of the pass into the Curral, 
and about 3,500 feet above the sea. 
From this point we obtained our first 
view of the Grand Curral. A vast 
amphitheatre lay before us, bathed 
in sunshine, with a few clouds 
rolling among the upper peaks, 
but denser masses seeming to lie on 
the other side of the pass over 
which lay our route out of the 
Curral. At our feet, although not at 
the lowest part of the valley, lay the 
village of Libramento, with its white 
church gleaming in the sun ; but, 
alas ! no inn or possibility of obtain- 
ing a lodging in this tempting spot. 

Our path descended to the village 
in steepest zigzags. On our left 
rose the vast perpendicular mass of 
the Paraiso, or rock of Paradise, 
forming a magnificent foreground 
to the grand amphitheatre into 
which we were now entering. The 
western boundary of the panorama 
was formed by the Serilho ridge, 
on the route of our return journey. 
Then came the Pico Grande, the 
Pico das Freiras, the Torrinhas, be- 
tween which lay our pass into Boa 
Ventura, and next the Pico Ruivo, 
after which the enormous precipices 
of the SidrHo blocked out all further 
view. 

Before us, under the Torrinhas, 
lay the steep grass and broom- 
covered promontory of the Lombo 
Grande, up which we could trace 
our zigzag track leading over the 
Torrinhas Pass to Boa Ventura. 



After gaeing awhile at t 
nificent scene, we walked d 
zigzags, and while passing 
the village gave the priest 
especial request, English 
exchange for English silv* 
then, accompanied by 1 
troop of most polite but s(] 
boring peasants on their wa 
the mountains, began the s 
the Lombo Grande. It was t 
and rough to walk in the 
ing Madeira air, and, conse 
not very pleasant riding; 
scenery was an ample co 
tion. We were surrounded 
sweeps of broom in flower 
the first part of our ascent 
bud only as we gained a 
height. Before us rose a fii 
of peaks and precipices, int 
by wooded ravines. We rea< 
summit of the pass at 1.20 p.ii 
the valley of Boa Ventura 
of cloud ; but the view i 
Grand Curral was still quii 
We now looked from tl 
Ruivo on our left to the pict 
and as yet unascended peak 
Torres on our right, then 
rounded mass of Santo Anto 
back to the Eira do Serrs 
the perpendicular Paraiso. 
top of the pass we took on: 
again surrounded by the too 
peasants, after which we be 
descent to Boa Ventura. 
was simply impossible; an( 
indeed a marvel how the 
could be even led down tt 
and rocky water-course wh: 
been made use of as the onl 
ticable line of descent. 

We had here entered ii 
other entirely new region 
were now in a real fores 
sisting partly of til trees 
daphne fostens), but prii 
of the louro and vinhatico^ 
here attain the size of 
rately fine English oaks. 1 
such a scene we walked fo: 
two hours. The clouds, whi 
dense enough and general 



Impresaimut of Madeira. 



175 



trfiere wiih distant views, were 
ficiently near to destroy the 
of the scenery in onr imme- 
neighbourhood, and opened 
>nally to give ns peeps of the 
ains they too often veiled. 
sre consequently able, to some 
, to realise the truth of the com- 
a of the gorge of Boa Ventura 
ooded Via Mala. The com- 
n, as usual, is not quite exact, 
gorge is by no means so nar- 
s that of the famous cleft in 
srland, but is sufficiently so to 
' the comparison. For two 
or thereabouts, wo toiled 
the rugged track, but at 
I we reached a better road, and 
nted, but only again to dis- 
i and remount with annoying 
jncy. 

s valley now became somewhat 
and tedious, and it seemed as 
village of Boa Ventura was 
to be reached. At last, at a 
)efore six o'clock, we arrived at 
pretty spot, and saw our road 
ko Vicente lying before us, 
he sea beneath us on our right. 
igain rode and walked alter- 
', and soon reached the fertile 
mtory of Punta Delgada, a 
t, vine-covered and thickly- 
)d tract at the foot of the 
fcains. Here we halted for a 
time to refresh our horses, 
then, in the fading day- 
pursued our way under the 
Anxiously we looked out 
ao Vicente. Headland after 
emd &ded away into the dis- 
The Atlantic boomed with 
ous roll beneath us, and there 
d no spot where a village 
I be sale from its winter rage, 
st we saw the *• Chapel Bock ' 
e entrance of the gorge, here 
oore than fifty yards across ; 
till there seemed no spot on 
I a village could be built, 
eaohed the rook as the shades 
ming were &st closing in, and 
lally, aa the twinkling Ugbts 
&r and near came into view, 



we became aware that this narrow 
gateway was the entrance to a large 
valley, gradually opening out to a 
considerable width as it receded 
from the sea into the bosom of the 
mountains. After a time we reached 
the village. It was the eve of a 
festa, and the numerous garlands of 
lovely flowers stretching across the 
street in which the church was 
placed looked gaily picturesque; 
but still our inn was not at hand, 
and it was not until we had gone 
much further up the valley that its 
lights were pointed out to us 
glimmering in the distance. The 
road was now quite dark. The 
short twilight gave us no assist- 
ance; and, as we neared our inn, 
we gladly welcomed the approach of 
a lantern to light us on our way. 

The inn certainly was humble, 
but it was clean, the mistress of the 
house was obliging, and we spent 
three nights there fairly comfort- 
ably. Warned by our friends at 
Funchal of the frequent scarcity of 
food at Sao Vicente, we had 
brought with us a supply of wine, 
meat, bread, and — cucumbers. It is 
usually as well to do so, but the 
occurrence of the festa accidentally 
furnished us with a supply of meat, 
provided for those attending the 
ceremony. 

The day after our arrival we 
went by the cliff path to SeisaJ. 
Clouds covered the mountains, but 
did not interfere with our walk 
beneath them. We did not start 
until 11.30, as we were not 
sorry to rest a little after the 
fatigues of the previous day, and we 
had no wish to return to our inn 
until the day was done. Our horses 
also required a rest ; but had they 
not done so, we could not have 
ridden, for our path was utterly 
impracticable for them. We walked 
down to the * Chapel Bock,' and 
then turned westward along the 
beach until we reached the cliff path, 
which gradually ascended to a 
height varying from one hundred 



176 



Impressiojis of Madeira, 



[Aognst 



to three hundred and fifty feet 
above the sea. It was a mere notch 
hollowed out on the face of the 
precipice, sometimes not more 
than two and a half feet wide, but 
varying from that to four or five 
feet. The rocks both above and 
below us were usually covered with 
vegetation, vines growing wher- 
ever there were accessible patches 
of soil, while enormous semper- 
viviims painted the face of the 
precipice with beautiful colours. 

We passed several fine water- 
falls pouring down into the sea ; 
one fell in six well-defined leaps, 
while another descended in one 
unbroken sheet from nearly the 
extreme height of the precipice, 
at least i,ooo feet above us, 
breaking over its edge through an 
overhanging arch of trees. The 
path, before and behind us, looked 
a mere thread, and where the 
waterfall came down all further 
progress seemed baiTed by the 
tumbling cascade. But in these 
places, short tunnels were made in 
the rock, sometimes in one un- 
broken perforation, and sometimes 
through a scries of arches opening 
towards the sea, which admitted 
the light amongst the delicate 
srreen of fern leaves in the most 
fairy-like manner, for each arched 
tunnel was a dripping well in which 
ferns luxuriated. All the while the 
blue Atlantic boomed in measured 
cadence far beneath. We sat and 
sketched at the entrance of one of 
the dark wooded ravines, so frequent 
on the northern coast, and called 
from its unusual narrowness, and 
consequent gloom, the Ribeiro do 
Inferno. Its sides were one mass 
of shrubs, and clouds covered the 
summits. Then we wandered on 
for miles, lunching at the mouth of 
an Arco, as those spots are called 
where the rocks recede in an am- 
phitheatre from the sea, and where 
the soil at their base is usually 
particularly tertile and covered 
with vines and sugar-canes. Toward 



evening we returned by the same 
route, as any other was impossible. 

The next day we were to visit 
scenery of a kind again entirely dif- 
ferent from any wehad hitherto seen. 
We were to go to the great inland 
plain of the island, 5,000 feet 
above the sea, and level with the 
tops of all but the highest 
mountains. It is called the Paiil 
(or marsh, palus) da Serra, from its 
comparative moisture. We intended 
then to go to the great waterfall of 
Raba9al and descend to the coast 
by the Chao da Ribeira, a richly- 
wooded ravine, whose green walls 
enclose a luxuriantly fertile valley. 
We were obliged to vary our pro- 
posed route from want of time, 
but we had a most interesting day. 

An English friend from Funchal, 
attached to the telegraph service, 
had joined us the previous evenmg, 
and occupied the only remaining 
bedroom of the inn. We all set out 
on horseback at 9.45 a.m. Clonds 
covered the mountain-tops, but did 
not interfere with the views of the 
wide valley, into which the narrow- 
necked gorge had now expanded, 
and through which we rode for 
some distance. The central group 
of mountains closed the view before 
us. On each side they descended 
in precipices, or were broken into 
precipitous ravines, while the form 
of the valley itself was everywhere 
varied by the usual long ridges 
and conical hills so strikingly 
characteristic of volcanic scenery. 
Beneath us ran the stream, here 
broken into waterfalls tumbling 
into tranquil pools, there hidden 
among the rocks, and almost every- 
where in the damp and shaded 
recesses of its banks the naturalised 
datura gladdened the eye with the 
profuse luxuriance of its trumpet- 
shaped, white pendant flowers. 

After a time we turned out of 
our road, which was the main and 
so-called royal road from Sao 
Vicente to Funchal, westward up 
the mountains. As usual our horses 



Impressions ofMadevra, 



177 



cramble up the rocky track 
brts which, to the riders, 
ELrdly less fatigning than 
After a time we got into 
on of heath-trees, fifty feet 
it and with stems as thick 
an' 8 body, mingled with 
id vinhaticos, and alas ! also 
region of clouds. For five 

or six hundred feet we 
rough drizzling mist, not 
ough to spoil the beauty of 
ded defiles through which 
Ki, but sufficiently dense to 

all except the immediately 
ling view. 

igth, at 11.35, we reached 
:e dos Tanquinhos, a spring 
ige of the Serra 5,000 feet 
e sea. Over our heads the 
I cloudless, but all below 
at. A long and perfectly 
le of clouds bounded the 

horizon to the N.E., 
ly far beyond the island, 
our immediate neighbour- 
my from the Serra, nothing 
be seen but the brilliant 
)f the rolling, sun-illumined 

Here we dismissed our 
iros and the horses, for the 
would have been too long 
I, and the descent from the 
in the direction in which 
3 going, impossible. One 
lained with us to carry our 
,nd act as guide. Before 
out on our journey across 
I we walked to the edge of 
ice, hoping to obtain a view 
mountains. To our great 
the clouds lowered and re- 
be jagged tops of the entire 
f the central group. All 
rp and clear before us, 
; out above the clouds. The 
18 magnificent. At length we 
way and began our march 
le plain. It was certainly 
ipecied sort of sight for 
We saw the undulating: 
stretching for miles away 
B, patched over with fern 
le growing among the short 

L — ^HO. LXYIU. NEW SEBIES. 



but rich pastures, while here and 
there were perfectly level tracts of 
brilliantly green grass, looking like 
a racecourse. On these much 
cattle was feeding, whilst here and 
there, scattered over the plain, 
were sheep and goats, and buzzards 
wheeled and cried over our heads. 
The mountains at the edge of the 
plain were hidden by the clouds. 
While waiting at the spring, and 
discussing our route, we had com& 
to the conclusion that the Ba.ba9al 
was beyond our reach, and after- 
wards found that we must also give 
up the Chao da Ribeira, and de- 
scend to Seisal by the bullock path, 
or Boero road. 

For two hours and a half w6 
walked along the plain, in brilliant 
sunshine; but when we got near the 
edge of the Paiil, our guide left us 
to hold mysterious converse with a 
herdsman. Our * philosopher and 
friend' was evidently at fault. 
Neither he nor Mr. Hewitt had 
been on the Paiil for many years, 
and Mr. Hewitt had never seen it 
except in mist. It is indeed but 
seldom visited, and still more seldom 
free from cloud. There is not one 
single hut or hovel for man through- 
out its whole extent. The Govern- 
ment ' refuge house ' is now an utter 
ruin. But, during the day, the. 
herdsmen visit the Paiil to tend their 
flocks and herds, descending nightly- 
to the valleys. The Madeira pea- 
sants are great walkers, thinking 
nothing of distance, and even at . 
Funchal the hammock men return 
nightly to their mountain homes. 

Our herdsman, of course, knew 
the way; and, under his in- 
struction, our guide conducted us 
towards Seisal ; but we had passed 
the route leading to the Ch^o da 
Ribeira, and had to go by the 
Boero road. For a time we 
descended gradually, still in sun- 
shine, through beautiful thickets of 
broom, or treading on carpets of 
thyme, which sent out its deliciously 
aromatic perfume as we crushed it 





178 



Impressions of Madeira. 



[August 



beneath our feet. At last we 
reached the Boero road, which was, 
as usual, the bed of a torrent. For 
more than two hours we toiled 
through mist down the densely- 
wooded rocky .track. The clouds 
became thinner as wo descended, 
and we had fine views into the Chao 
da Ribeira, deep beneath us, which 
made us much regret our inability 
to explore it. At about 5.15 p.m. 
we arrived at Seisal, and here we 
gladly made our long-past mid- 
day meal. We returned by the 
cliff road, and got back to Sao 
Vicente a Httle before eight o'clock. 
The following day we set out 
on our return to Funchal, and 
were to pass through what is con- 
sidered the finest scenery of the 
island. Wo started at 9.30, in 
great fear about the weather. As 
we ascended we got into the mist, 
which soon became a drizzle. Um- 
brellas shortly became indispen- 
sable, and after a time waterproofs 
were equally so. It may easily be 
imagined that this prevented us 
from fally appreciating the scenery ; 
but, fortunately, the mists rolled 
away from time to time, and al- 
though they frequently returned, 
we had occasional opportunities of 
seeing enough to convince us that 
we were passing through landscapes 
far finer than any we had yet seen, 
and again quite different from any 
we had previously visited. Indepen- 
dently of the magnificent labyrinth 
of verdure-clad ravines and moun- 
tain-sides, the great characteristic 
of the Encumiada and Serra d'Agoa, 
through which we were now passing, 
was the grand forest scenery. 
Here the prevailing tree is the til, 
and here its only enemy is the char- 
coal-bumer. The difficulty and 
distance of carriage prevents its 
being cut down for timber or for 
furniture, for which its fine dark 
colour aximirably adapts it when 
time has deprived it of its horribly 
foetid odour when first cut. Here 
it consequently grows with the size 



and luxuriance of centuries of un- 
disturbed life. Its form is pictu- 
resque and greatly resembles that 
of an old gnarled English oak. 
But the ground, too, hereabouts was 
covered more richly even than else- 
where with broad expanses of broom 
in splendid blossom, while the im- 
mense panicles of a large-flowered 
blackberry contributed not a little 
to the beauty of the scene. 

We lunched at the Serilho, the 
summit of the Encumiada Pass, and 
were fortunate enough to have a 
fine, although a transient, view into 
the Grand Curral, looking down on 
the track by which we had entered 
it three days before. From this 
point we descended towards tiie 
south, almost immediately getting 
into a comparatively treeless dis- 
trict, which lasted until we reached 
the region, first of the cherry and 
then of the Spanish chestnut. We 
soon reached the Jardim da Sottb, 
and shortly afterwards oame to the 
walled and vine-trellised roads 
which denote the approach to Fan- 
chal. We arrived at Miles's Hotel 
at about 5.30 ?.M. 

The few days which intervened 
between our return to Funchal and 
our departure from Madeira were 
too much occupied with prepara- 
tions and farewell visits to allow of 
any distant excursions. Having, 
therefore, nothing to relate of farther 
explorations, it may be well to ge- 
neralise my impressions, and to oon- 
clude with some practical remarka 
for the use of futxure visitors. 

The island is well worth visitinff, 
but I think there are but few people 
who would care to return to it. 
To those who are in good health the 
climato is not agreeable. It is too 
relaxing. To a certain extent one 
becomes used to it ; still, liowever, it 
is enervating, and renders one in- 
disposed to pedestrian exercise. 
But unquestionably, to one who is 
not an invalid, the great drawback 
is the difficulty of getting about. I 
have often been asked whether one 



ImpresHons of Madeira, 



179 



e walks, and my answer is 
that in the neighboarhood 
ihal, and with bat few ex. 
3 elsewhere, it is impracti- 
Thereis nowhere to walk, 
walking everywhere— if you 
walk — is most disagreeable, 
d carriages are practically 
m ; there are three pony 
98 in Funchal, but they are 
useless, and it is said that 
vmers intend to give them 
ley can be used only in some 
the streets of Funchal, and 
hat is termed the New Road, 
is a mixture of a Rotten 
r riding and a very fair road 
lages. It extends for about 
liles from the western end 



they guide or check it, and the car 
then shoots down by its own weight 
with a velocity that is not a little 
exciting, and, after the first dash off, 
extremely agreeable. The speed is 
often more than twenty miles an 
hour. It is wonderful how the 
angular comers are turned, the car 
lurching up first towards one wall 
and then towards the other; with 
what ease speed is slackened or ar- 
rested, and how seldom any serious 
accident happens. Merchants liv- 
ing in their quintas often make use 
of these sledges to go to their count- 
ing-houses in the morning, return- 
ing in the afternoon usually on 
horseback. 

To invalids, for whom a bracing 



3hal towards the village of air is not required, the remarkable 



e Lobos. 
universal mode of getting 
8 either to ride on horseback 
: bullock-sledge on runners, 
be carried in a hammock, 
is, however, a fourth mode 
ending from the mountains 
?e or four miles on a few 
md this is by sledges. A 

hold either two or three 
, is placed on wooden run- 
d descends the steep, wall- 
l roads principally by its 
eight. At starting, and 
he inclination is not great, 
agged down by two of the 
Tally active Madeira pea- 
ho run by its side at the rate 
or nine miles an hour, each 

it by a leathern thong at. 
ko its front on either side, 
ires but little or no exer- 
Iraw it along, for the road 
r where steep, and always 
y paved with pebbles or 
ones, to ^ which additional 
Less and even polish, be- 
lat produced by mere fric- 
jiven by the constant appli- 



stability of the temperature is a 
great recommendation. 

To men in health the utter ab- 
sence of any occupation or amuse- 
ment beyond that of visiting is 
wearisome. To those fond of 
scenery or of mountain exploration 
there are of course those additional 
sources of interest; but they are 
greatly lessened by the almost utter 
want of lodging accommodation. 
Out of Funchal, with the exception 
of the neighbouring seaside village 
of Santa Cruz — and this possesses 
only one small inn — there are but 
two places in the island where tra- 
vellers can find a lodging. The first 
is Santa Anna, where there is little 
fear of disappointment ; the other 
Sao Vicente, where there are only 
three decent bedrooms, and whither 
it is very desirable to take food. 
The comiort of Miles's Hotel at 
Funchal,and the beauty of its garden 
must not be omitted among the re- 
commendations of Madeira. 

It is comparatively easy to get 
to the island, but not so easy to 



leave it. There are four different 
f grease to the runners of lines of steamers to Madeira, 
ock-cars. When, however. The first is the Union Steamship 
becomes very steep, the men ^^ompany, whose vessels ply between 
I the framework of the car Southampton and the Cape of Good 
s foot, while with the other Hope, and call regularly at Madeira 

2 



180 



Impressions of Madeira. 



[A, 



botli on the outward and homeward 
voyages. On the outward voyage 
they leave Southampton on the 
5th or 6th, the 15th, and 25th of 
each month, and call for mails and 
passengers at Plymouth on the fol- 
lowing day. The average passage 
from Southampton to Madeira is six 
or seven days, but not unfrequently 
it is made in less than six days. 
On the return passage the vessels 
leave Table Bay also on the 5 th 
or 6th, 15th, and 25th, and the 
time of their arrival at Funchal 
varies from the 19th to the 21st 
day after departure, according 
to circumstances. The second is 
the African Steamship Company, 
whose vessels sail from Liverpool 
on every alternate Saturday for 
West Africa. They usually take 
seven days from Liverpool to Ma- 
deira. On their return voyage the 
vessels leave Old Calabar on every 
alternate Sunday, and reach Ma- 
deira about thirty days afterwards. 
The third line is that of Messrs. 
Donald Currie and Co., of London, 
who inform me that their colonial 
mail line steamers, calling at Ma- 
deira, leave London on the 20th of 
each month, and after embarking 
mails for the South African colo- 
nies leave Dartmouth at noon on 
the 23rd of each month. The time 
occupied in the voyage from 
Dartmouth to Madeira is from 
four to five days. From Cape- 
town Messrs. Donald Currie and 
Co.'s steamers leave on the loth 
of each month, unless that day be a 
Sunday, in which case they leave on 
the nth. The passage from Cape- 
town to Madeira occupies fix)m 
eighteen to twenty days, and conse- 
quently the steamers are due at 
Funchal on the 28th to the 30th of 
each month. The port of call on the 
return passage is Plymouth, and the 
passage to that place from Funchal 
is about the same as that to Dart- 
mouth. The fourth line is that of 



Messrs. Lamport and Holt, > 
vessels sail from Liverpool, 
inform me that they are not * 
to call at Madeira either oub 
or homewards, but they say thi 
frequency of communication by 
with Madeira may be gathered 
the fact that during the firs 
months of the present year 
steamers have touched there c 
outward and twenty on the 1 
ward passage, and in the ma 
of instances the steamers 1 
wards have landed their passe 
at Southampton. 

It is to be regretted that 
are not some vessels which 
the voyage only to Madeira 
back ; but probably the numl 
passengers would not be enou 
pay. It is possible to go ai 
turn to Madeira by way of Li 
but the Portuguese steamboat 
ing from that place to Fun eh? 
to be carefully avoided. 

It need not be concealed, an( 
not be denied, that the Portu 
officials do all they can to 
courage visitors to Madeira 
the present governor of the 
openly declares that it would ; 
him were the communicatior 
tween Madeira and the rest c 
world limited, as used to b 
case, to one steamboat a n 
Under such circumstances the 
of roads and the want of acco 
dation for travellers — out of 
chal, which is admirably pre 
with these requirements — is 
be wondered at. Were the 
in the hands of the English or I 
all would be managed othe 
and the prosperity and enjo^ 
of the island would be inci 
tenfold. 

We returned home by the * 
Company's steamship Eun 
sailing from Funchal at 5 p. 
Thursday, June 3, and and 
at Southampton early on tb 
lowing Thursday morning. 



181 



INTERNATIONAL WORKING MEN'S ASSOCIATION. 



Part II. 

istory of the Intematioual 
y aptly be divided into two 
the first characterised by 
t total abstention from po- 
tion, which ended with the 
igress ; the second marked 
es of political acts as con- 
each other in spirit as the 
Brunswick Manifesto and 
lly notorious address of the 

Council on the civil war 
ce, which lasted till the 
; up of the Association, 
fourth, and, in many re- 
most important Congress, 
B41e in 1869, was attended 
inty-eight delegates from 
^ Belgium, England, France, 
f, Italy, Spain, and Switzer- 
?he proceedings were fully 
. in the newspapers, at- 
much public attention at 
le, and were afterwards 
i both in England and 

Among the delegates may 
ioned Applegarthj Lucrafb, 
n Jung, Eccarius, from 
[; Mollin, delegate of the 

Positivist Proletarians of 
i metal-gilder by trade ; 
cht, member of the Prus- 
rliament, and editor of the 
}laUy afterwards imprisoned 

share in the Brunswick 
bo ; Ober winder, sentenced 

Austrian Government to 

years* imprisonment for 
kre in these proceedings ; 
one of the original founders 
itemational; Bakounine, the 

anarchist, whose views he 
J opposed ; Varlin, the noted 
nist, and many professors, 
Bts, and working men of 
t political and social creeds. 



The character of this Congress dif- 
fered essentially from that of the rest. 
These writers and professors could 
not be called working men in the 
accepted sense of the word ; and, as 
was only to be expected, no com- 
mon line of thought or unanimous 
principles of action brought them 
together. As far as any solution 
of practical economic questions was 
concerned, therefore, the B&le Con- 
gress must be pronounced a failure, 
and the time was principally taken 
up in discussing abstract questions 
of right and Communistic views 
of a revolutionary nature — discus- 
sions, moreover, which ended in 
what may be described as the for- 
mation of a new International. 
Certainly the old was so changed 
as to be hardly recognisable, and 
no wonder that its original pro- 
jectors stood aghast. 

At the Brussels Congress the year 
before the Communistic party had 
been in the majority, and had voted 
the confiscation of woods and forests, 
mines, canals, railroads, and waste 
lands, which were to be the col- 
lective property of society. The 
nationalisation of the land was also 
voted, Tolain in vain raising his 
voice against these violent mea- 
sures. But at Bale nothing short 
of la liquidation sociale — a general 
winding-up of society — would con- 
tent Bakounine ; in other words, 
the following principles of whole- 
sale confiscation : 

Private property to be abolished. 
Ground-rent to be abolished. 
Inheritance to be abolished. 
The land to belong to the State. 
Society to be wound up. 

I am a resolute enemy of the State and 
of the middle-class politics of the State, 
(said Bakouninp). I demand th e destruction 



CompU'Bendu du quatrUme OmgrtM International, Bruxelles : imprimerie do 
ricnu&e. 1869. 



182 



The IrU&mat'mial Working Men*8 Associatwn. [August 



of all societies, both national and territo- 
rial. I demand that on the ruins of these 
States wo lay the foundations of a new 
society of working men. 

The discussions on property and 
heritage lasted several days ; and, in 
spite of eloquent speeches by Tolain, 
Mollin, Chemal^, and others, pri- 
vate property was voted against. 

You will grant me (said Tolain) that 
society is composed of individuals, and that 
coUtctimsm is an abstract term, something 
unknown to us, an idea only; but the indi- 
vidual exists ; he asserts himself in every 
field of human actirity. Wo have only to 
consider the individual from three points of 
view — the religious, political, and social — 
to feel convinced that of all the tendencies 
of the human mind those alone are false 
which are contrary to the manifestation of 
his individuality, and we find, on whichever 
side we look, that the prevailing desire of 
every human being is to be his own sove- 
reign — a free, independent unit. When a 
man has contributed his share to the gene- 
ral good, when he has satisfied the exigencies 
of society as a citizen, I deny that col- 
lectivism, or the collective state, has 
the right to lay hands on tlio fruit of his 
toil. It is a yiolation of human liberty. . . . 
It is quite a mistake to attribute the mise- 
ries of humanity to property. Let us see 
if, regarded from an intellectual point of 
view, collectivism is superior to indivi- 
dualism. Well, by whom has been brought 
about the progress on which the world may 
well pride itself, except by individuals who, 
by their knowledge or their character, have 
raised themselves out of collectivism, 
which has pursued them with jeers and 
sarcasms — Columbus, Galileo, Stephenson, 
and many others — who have each by their 
own acts proved the individual to be greater 
than the collective mass of humanity ? 

Mollin, the Positivist delegate, 
spoke on the same side from a dif- 
ferent point of view. Formerly a 
Communist, he was now, he said, 
a Positivist. It is to the Com- 
munists we owe the principle that, 
as the source of wealth is social, its 
employment ought to be social ; but 
the error of the Communistic solu- 
tion lay in trying to introduce social 
changes by political instead of trust- 
ing to moral means. 



I hold out my hand on the otiier side (he 
said) to individualists ; we must recognise 
the double character of the present situa- 
tion — the increasing aspiration after per- 
sonal individuality — and the growing mul- 
tiplicity of associations. To satisfy these 
two conditions we must make association 
more and more voluntary by the force of 
duties fitted to regulate every act of domes- 
tic and social and personal life. Agreeing 
with Tolain that we ought not to vote in 
this matter, and penetrated with Positive 
doctrines, I propose the following resolu- 
tion: The Proletariat here assembled 
solemnly repudiate the employment of go> 
vemmental action, in whatever form, for the 
establishment of social systems ; they de- 
clare that governmental action should be 
reduced to the protection of the Ubeity of 
all, and that no doctrine ought to prevail 
otherwise than by perfectly voluntary accep- 
tance resulting from free expoeition. 

After the discussion on property, 
in which, as we have seen, Chemale, 
Tolain, Murat, and Mollin voted 
against Bakounine and the confisca- 
tion par^, ensued a more stormy sit- 
ting still on the question of heritage. 
* Considering that Congress declazes 
that every sort of property is to be 
held in common, it is logicftUj 
necessary to declare against inheii- 
tance,' said Brism^ ; . but when Uie 
votes were counted, it was found 
that the majority were not disposed 
to yield the right of inheritance. 
Two English delegcates — Apple* 
garth and Lucraft — had refrained 
from voting in the first question, 
and in the last Lucrafb was ahaent 
and Applegarth against Bakounine's 
measure. This discussion is er« 
ceedingly curipus.* The indivi- 
dualists and collectivists were 
getting to a better understanding 
of eacuL other, and it was already 
evident that a split in the camp im- 
pended. The Timps, which gave 
lengthy reports of the proceed* 
ings at B&le, asked the natural 
question, What have English. woric» 
ing men bent on trades combi- 
nations in common with the advo- 
cates of Conunxmism? Mr. Apple- 



' Sec the CampiC'Rendu before mentioned, also the Times for September 1869. 



The Inter national Working Methg AssocioUion. 



183 



secretary of the Amal- 
Carpenters and Joiners, 
the only reason why 
peratives should establish 
sanding with their foreign 
that English masters 
onger threaten their men 
ith importations of foreign 
and that, if the Intema- 
l done no other good, it 
ved this; and elsewhere 
tt he was little prepared 
discussions turning upon 
liency of abolishing all 
individual property and 
ig the principles of Col- 
or Communism. When 
5garth acknowledged the 
advantages enjoyed by 
id his fellow- workmen in 
try, being at liberty to 
pen daylight and treat of 
on, without need of creep- 
holes and corners lest a 
should see them, he 
re added, says the Times, 
I that English workmen 
unlimited a freedom of 
[e might have given as a 
respect that all good men 
m show for their country's 
'. Applegarth alluded to 
sufl'rage as the conquest 
ides unions and Reform 
That suffrage, he said, 
own work, a great result, 
) lead to other and greater 
e trades unions have not 
lenced Parliament, but 
aen as well. They have 
1 a Labour League to send 
len to Parliament in order 
> obnoxious laws. Such 
} views and tendencies 
Lg men, what can they 
ommon with people who 
3ven with the Swiss Con- 
as a repuhliqtce hour' 
No wonder that Mr. 
h expressed a wish that 
il workmen should look 
mmediate results. Thus 
ire the opinion of the 



If some foreign sections of the 
International, however, went into 
excesses, it must be admitted in 
their behalf that they had real 
grievances to complain of. As a 
sample of tha transactions that came 
before the Congress, take the follow- 
ing, quoted in the report of the 
Bale Congress : 

A deputation of Hungarian working mefti 
waited lately on the Minister of the Interior, 
to ask permission to establish working 
men's societies. The Minister coolly asked, 
• Are you working men ? Do you work 
diligently?' On being answered in the 
affirmative, he said, * Well, that is all you 
need concern yourselves with ; you do not 
want any societies, and if you meddle with 
politics we shall find moans against it.' In 
answer to the question whether ever3rthing 
waa left to the arbitrary power of the 
authorities, 'Yes, under my responsibility,* 
answered the Minister. The deputation 
withdrew with the assurance that, as their 
condition depended on the laws of their 
country, they were bound to meddle with 
pohtics, and would find means of doing so. 

Practical questions, however, did 
come before the Congress, and upon 
this occasion the triumph of the 
International at Lyons was an- 
nounced. 8,000 'ovalistes' (workers 
in silk), mostly women, had struck, 
as has been before mentioned, and 
being assisted by the Association, 
obtained a reduction of labour from 
twelve to ten hours and an advanoe 
of wages from is^* to i«. 6d. per 
day. In only a few weeks 10,000 
Lyons members were added to the 
International. Reports of the pro-^ 
gross of the Association and its in- 
fluence upon industrial questions 
were read by delegates from various 
centres of Elurope, also from Ame- 
rica ; and perhaps it was never more 
powerful than at the close of this 
Congress. Another motion of Ba- 
kounine's, carried unanimously, was 
the following : 

Considering that it is unworthy of a 
society of working men to uphold a principle 
of monarchy and authority by allowing 
presidents, even though they exercise no 
actual power; and that honorary distinc- 
tions are an impeachment of democratic 
principles, Congress engages all the sections 



184 The International Working Men^s Associatioti. [Ai 

and all the working men's societies con- gressive policy. On July 12 

nected with the International to abolish before the declaration of wai 

the office of president. p^^^ ^^^.^^ published a man 

President Odger, therefore, was against it in the Reveil, to tl: 

discarded, and the English element lowing effect: 
ceased tobe a strongone. It ishardly ^^^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^l^^ ^^^^^^ ^^ j.^ 

necessary to say thatamongsuchmen equilibrium and of national honoi 

as Odger, Lncraft, Applegarth, and peace of the world is menaced by p< 

others, Bakounine*s atheistic and ambitions In answer to the ^ 

confiscatory programmes found little Proclamations of those who exempt 

n __ mi ^ T i. i,'^ ^1 selves from the blood tax, and find in 

favour There were International- ^^fo^unes a source of fresh specul 

istswho still beheved m property, we protest, we who want peace, laboi 

religion, and marriage; and from liberty Brothers of German 

the ashes of the old Association, division would only result in the co 

which had been bent on an interna- ^^[^™P^ °^ despotism on both sides 

X* 1-C1J i^ rrnj TT* Ivhine vVorkmen of all coi 

tional Federation of Trades Umons, ^^atever may for the present becc 

had risen a new one, bent on a your common efforts, we, tht m 

Communistic revolution. of the International Working Mcd 

The fifth Congress was to meet sociation, who know of no frontiers 

at Paris, afterwards changed to y°^ ^ 5 ?¥«« of indissoluble sol 

^ , 1 . ' V i . «.° the good wishes, the salutations, 

Coblentz, but was put off on ac- workmen of France. 

count of the war. The attitude of 

the International before the plebis- The following extracts froi 

cite of 1870 was sufficiently decisive, addresses issued by the G( 

*We can neither vote for the Empire Council sitting in Holborn on 

parlementaire,' it said, ' nor for 23 and September 9 will sho^ 

the Empire autoritaire. We shall ^^^ ^^ese feelings were re( 

vote for the Republic* Ollivier, cated: 

knowing well this hostility to the On the eve of the plebiscite 

plebiscite, ordered all the procu- leon ordered a raid on the meml 

reurs to have an eye to the pro- ^^« administrative committees of t 

J. /•xv. A • 1^ J ternational Working Mens Asso 

<5eedmg8 of the Association, and th^^ghout France-^at Paris, Rouen 

again arrests of many members seilles, Brest, &c— on the pretext tl 

took place, of whom some were ac- International was a secret society da 

quitted, some were condenmed to i^ ^ complot for his assassination, 

a year's imprisonment and a fine of J«»«^ 8«>° ^^^ «P08«i in its full ab 

•' n 5 I- 1 'a. . by his own judges. What was th 

100 francs for belonging to a secret ^^^^ ^^ ^^e French branches of the 

society ; the rest, for belongmg to a national ? They told the French 

society of more than twenty persons, publicly and emphatically that voti 

were condemned to two months' plebiscite was voting despotism at 

imprisonment and a fine of twenty- and war abroad It has been, in fac 

« ^ r. CI 1 i» XT- "^j work that m all the great towns, m 

five francs. Several of the accused industrial centres of France, the ^ 

afterwards formed the Comite Cen- classes rose like one man to rej( 

tral de la Commune. plebiscite. Unfortunately the balai 

Then followed the war, and the turned by the ignorance of the 

fall of the Empire— occasions which ^^"J^T^^^f- , J^%. ^"^^^ ^""""^T^ 

11 J i» _j.i- i.T_ i i Cabinets, the ruling classes, and th 

calledforth those courageous protests ^f ^^^ celebrated the plibiscit 

against war and annexation which signal victory of the French Emper 

will ever be remembered to the the working classes, and it was the 

honour of the Internationa'. The ^^^ t^® assassination, not of an indi 

Paris and German sections issued )^l tj^^'^^'i r^^i-^^^''^^ 

.- . . • xT_ • 1 ^ne incidents of Louis Bonaparte 

mamfestoes, unammous m their ab- ^th Prussia, the death-knell of the 

borrence of dynastic war or ag- Empire has already sounded at Pai 



The International Working M&n^s Associaiion. 



185 



as it began, with a parody. But 
>t forget that it is the Goyornment 

ruling classes of Europe who 
Louis Bonaparte to play during 
years the ferocious farce of the 

£mpire If the German 

classes allow the present war to 
trictly defensive character, and to 
:e into a war against the French 
ictory or defeat will prove alike 

s The principles of the 

onal are, however, too widely spread 
firmly rooted among the German 
class to let us apprehend such a 
ummation. The voices of the 
orkmen have re-echoed from Ger- 
A mass meeting of workmen held 
wick on July i6 expressed its full 
ace with the Paris manifesto, 
the idea of national antagonism to 
ind wound up its rt>solutions with 
rds : * We arn enemies of all wars, 

ve all of dynastic wars 

sp sorrow and grief we are forced 
go a defensive war as an unavuid- 
l ; but we call, at the same time, 
e whole German working class to 
he recurrence of such a social mis- 
impossible by vindicating for the 
hemselves the power to decide in 
d war and making them masters of 
m destinies/ The Berlin branch 
liter national thus replied to the 
mifesto : * We join with heart and 
ar protestation. (Solemnly we pro- 
it neither the sound of the trum- 

the roar of the cannon, neither 
lor defeat, shall divert us from our 
work for the union of the children 
of all countries.' The English 

class stretch the hand of fellow- 
the French and German working 
They feel deeply convinced 
itever turn the impending war 
Le, the alliance of the working 
>f all countries will ultimately kill 
'he very fact that while official 
and Germany are rushing into a 
il feud the workmen of Franco 
nany send each other messages of 
ad goodwill, a fact unparalleled 
istory of the past, opens the vista 
;hter future. 

e second address (September 
Ts the following passage : 

erman working class haye reso- 
pported the war, which it was not 
power to prevent, as a war for 
independence and the liberation of 
nd Europe from that pestilential 
be Second Empire, 
the German workmen who, toge- 
the rural labourers, furnished the 



sinews and muscles of heroic hosts, leaving 
behind their half-starved families. In their 
turn they are now coming forward to ask 
for guarantees — guarantees that their im- 
mense sacrifices have not been wrought in 
vain, that they have conquered liberty, 
that the victory over the Imperialist armies 
will not, as in 1815, be turned into the 
defeat of the German people ; and as the 
first of these guarantees they claim an 
honourable peace for France and the recog- 
nition of the French Republic. 

The address then goes on to quote 
the famous Brunswick Manifesto : 

The Central Committee of the German 
Socialist Democratic Workmen's Party is- 
sued, on September 5, a manifesto ener- 
getically insisting upon these guarantees. 
• We,' they say, * protest against the annex- 
ation of Alsace and Lorraine. And we are 
conscious of speaking in the name of the 
German working class. In the common 
interest of France and Germany, in the 
interest of peace and liberty, in the inte- 
rest of Western civilisation against Eastern 
barbarism, the German workmen will not 
patiently tolerate the annexation of Alsace 

and Lorraine We shall faithfully 

stand by our fellow-workmen in all coun- 
tries for the common international cause of 
the Proletariat.' 

The address commented on this 

protest in the following terms : 

The French working class moves under 
circumstances of extreme difficulty. Any 
attempt at upsetting the Government in 
the present crisis, when the enemy is almost 
knocking at the doors of Paris, would be a 
desperate folly. The French workmen 
must perform their duties as citizens ; but • 
at the same time they must not allow 
themselves to be swayed by Uie national 
souvenirs of 1 792, as tiie French peasants 
allow themselves to be deluded by the na- 
tional souvenirs of the First Empire. They 
have not to recapitulate the past, but to 
build up the future. Let them calmly and 
resolutely improve the opportunities of 
Kepublican liberty and further the work of 
their own class organisation. 

This address was signed by Apple- 
garth, Hales, Odger, Mottershead, 
Karl Marx, Jung, Eccarius, and 
others, and is well worth perusal 
by all interested in the history of 
the International. It is well known 
that the members of the Central 
Committee instrumental in drawing 
up the Brunswick Manifesto were 



186 The International Working Men's Assoctaiiofi, [Ai 

arrested by order of General von working man's movement wa 

Falkenstein, and sent manacled like down with an iron hand throu] 

common felons to Konigsberg. Germany ; and so consisten 

But these persecutions were only been the line of conduct pursu 

the beginning of a series of inroads the Prussian Government tha 

upon personal liberty unparalleled most difficult to attain any 

in the history of a so-called free rate idea of the present state c 

country. In the same year the Social Democratic party in 

learned and venerable Dr. Jacoby, country .^ 
a well-known friend to the work- The events prognosticate! 

ing men's cause and an avowed the International had qi 

enemy of annexation, was arrested come to pass. ' On the 21 

for a similar offence. Further ar- August, 1870, the French t 

rests were made at Mayence, in opened hostilities by crossin; 

Hanover, Hamburg, and other places. Saarbriick ; on the ist of Septe 

All meetings for the purpose of the French army was touU 

making such opinions public were Sedan and the Emperor a pris 

forbidden in Prussia, and the * pa- on the 4th the Republic was 

triotic ' and annexation party, on the claimed in Paris. Then followe 

other hand, no longer ventured to humiliating national disaster 

hold public meetings, on account of another — the investment and 

the known hostility of the workmen bardment of Paris, the fm 

to the further prosecution of the sorties, and finally the rui 

war. In Meerane in Saxony, and heartbreaking, and we ma} 

Heidhausen in Bavaria, enthusiastic unparalleled terms of peac( 

meetings were held by Social Demo- was evident that a popular 

crats in favour of the French Re- break was at hand. Al 

public and against the humiliation from the 4th of September 

of the French nation for the ad- mittees of vigilance had been 

vantage of the ruling caste in blished by the Internatione 

Germany; but from this date the various parts of Paris, but i 



• The following extract from the Pall Mall Gazette of June 5 of the presen 
shows that the German Internationalist party is active. The sittings are only 
delegates : ' A Congress of German Socialists has been sitting at Gotba, and an ai 
•matioQ of the followers of Lassalle and of the disciples of Marx (the Internation 
has been the result. The new programme of the party states that, in order to efft 
emancipation of labour, it is necessary by all legal means to break 'the iron 
wages/ by abolishing the system of work for wages and every social and pc 
inequality. The programme also demands the establishment of coH>perative proci 
societies with State help and under the democratic control of the working classes. 
other demands of the Socialists are — (i) A general and equal law for all electioiis, 
must be by ballot, and made obligatory on every citizen above twenty years of age. 
election must be held on a Sunday or a holiday. (2^ Direct legislation by the ] 
The decision about war or peace belongs to the people. (3) General duty to ser\ 
defender of one's country, popular militias instead of standing armies. (4) lie] 
all exceptional laws, particularly of all the laws against the press and against mc 
and societies. (5) Administration of justice through the people and without fees 
General and equal education of the people by the State. Free tuition in all schoo! 
colleges. The religious persuasions of the citizens to be considered as a private i 
(7) A single progressive income tax instead of all present indirect taxes. (8) T 
restricted right of coalition. (9) A standard day's work according to the wa; 
society. (10) Prohibition of all children's work and women's work which may b 
sidered as unhealthy. (11) Laws for the protection of the life and health 
working man. Strict control of mines, factories, &c., by officers selected by w 
men. (12) Regulation of prison work. (13) Independent administration of all W4 
men's co-operative and benevolent societies. 



The International Working Men's AasociaJtion. 



187 



I the siege was drawing to a 
nd peace negociations had 

that action was organised 
the * Beds ' of Belleville and 
ette. The disarming of the 
^ Guards might have saved 

but instead of this the 

army was disbanded, in 
lence of which the Bretons 
ler soldiery to be relied upon 
d* to their homes. Jules 
admitted that in not following 
vice of Bismarck he had 
ited a grave error, whilst 
1 Le Flo considered such a 
mpossible. In fact, the 
il Guards had determined 
be disarmed. In the mean- 
le insurrectionary army was 
ing itself from every element 
)rd in the country; the Gari- 
is, the francS'tireurs from the 
id east of France, the revolu- 
' condottieri of all nations, 
1 to the standard of cosmo- 
democracy. One of the first 
r hostility towards the Go- 
mt was the seizure and 
)rt of cannon to Montmartre, 
he cry, *If the Prussians 
hem, let them take them.' 
ds of a hundred thousand 
ere ranged on the side of the 
ints ; but some pieces of 

were surrendered on the 
3 of one franc and a half 
paid to the disbanded troops 
n till ordinaiy wprk should be 
d. Other efforts at compro- 
iled, and the suppression of 
I Republican journals and the 
:ment of AureUe de Paladines 
;ovemment of Paris increased 
neral feeling of discontent. 
3 men attempted to carry 

cannon from Montmartre, 
ere ordered to fire on the 
il Guards, who returned the 
ling an officer. The afternoon 
(nt in barricading the streets 
>rtifying Montmartre and 
He, and the Commune was 
ned with music and cannon 



on the Place H6tel de Ville. 
Cluseret was appointed Delegate 
of War, Jourdo of Finance, Pascal 
Grousset of Foreign Affairs, Baoul 
Bigault of General Safety. Assi, 
Duval, Varlin, Avrial — in all 
eighteen of the sixty members 
of the Commune — were Inter- 
nationalists, three of whom belong- 
ed to the Comite Central, it 
is said of Assi, afterwards sent to 
New Caledonia, that his familiar 
reading was Quinet's Histoire des 
Republiques lialiennes duMoyen Age^ 
and his dream was to see Paris a 
mediaeval Florence. Cluseret has 
sufi&ciently exposed his own views 
both in deed and in writing, and has 
moreover succeeded in evading the 
fate of most of his colleagues. 
Fribourg, who with Tolain may be 
said to represent the Bight of the 
International, had quitted Paris, 
foreseeing that no good would 
come of the insurrection ; and 
Tolain, elected by the working 
men of Paris to the National 
Assembly, tried in vain to effect a 
compromise. The depositions of 
these men in the Enquete ParU' 
mentaire sur V Insurrection du iS 
Mars should be studied by all 
yrho wish to know the exact 
part played by Internationalists 
throughout the Commune. One 
hundred and sixty thousand people, 
among^ them the Mayor of Paris and 
many leading men, quitted the city. 
Forty thousand electors, mostly 
in easy circumstances, had already 
quitted Paris within a week of the 
elections for the National Assembly, 
and so unpopular was the Gk>vem- 
ment that only Jules Favre*s name 
appeared on the list of the repre- 
sentatives of the Seine. The inert- 
ness and neutrality of the middle 
and upper ranks of Parisians, and 
the dilatoriness of the Government, 
paved the way for the revolu- 
tion. The press alone — and this 
fact is commented on by the Go- 
vernment party — took a bold and 



188 



The International Working Men's Association. 



[^ 



determined attitude against the 
Commune, the Siecle, Journal des 
Debate y Constitutionnel, Oaulois, and 
many others protesting against the 
authority that had established itself 
at the H6tel de Ville, under the 
name of Le Comity Central. 

Attempts at conciliation failed. 
Saisset, who had succeeded Paladines, 
failed to achieve anything, and 
thus matters took their miserable 
course. The first encounter took 
place on the 2nd of April, when 
the Communist prisoners were 
summarily executed, a precedent 
which prepared the way for 
terrible reprisals later on the 
other side. It was not till after 
the shooting of General Duval and 
others* by Vinoy that this step was 
decided on ; 200 hostages, among 
them the Archbishop of Paris, were 
seized. The Versailles Government 
persisted in giving no quarter ; 900 
men were massacred at Clamart, 
and the Chd.teau d'Issy captured 
with frightful slaughter on the part 
of the Versailles troops. The 
seizure of Fort Vanvres deprived 
the Commune of its last outlying 
defence, and in the meantime there 
was disorganisation within its camps. 
Lullier, Bergeret, Assi, were dis- 
graced one after the other ; Deles- 
eluze and Cluseret also ; and Bossel, 
the most capable man among them, 
who had been appointed inCluseret's 
place, found himself obliged to re- 
sign in consequence of the difference 
of opinion and persistent reference 
to the majority which fettered his 
action. In the last struggle Deles- 
cluze accepted command, and the 
annals of the Commune offer no 



more striking piece of heroisn 
that exhibited by his death, 
he saw that all was over, tl 
man went quietly to the 
cades in civilian's dress, wa 
stick in hand, and there await 
end of his disillusion and d 
He was a man of temperanc 
virtue — even a believer in Go 
doubtless there were othen 
him. 

On Sunday afternoon, the 
of May, the Versailles ge 
entered Paris. Then begai 
terrible series of reprisals c 
part of the conquerors for 
even our own Conservative j 
whilst condemning the Con 
in strongest language, can 
find excuse, and which it is d 
to believe but for the evide 
eye-witnesses. 

The bringing in of the Commui 
soners to Versailles (says an eye- 
the correspondent of the Itlu^irat 
don News) is a spectacle which cans 
interest ; some of the prisoners ai 

wounded One was a mi 

decided features, aquiline nose, b 
defiant eyes, and a black beard, on 
chiefs of insurrection ; he smiled 
suits and defied the execrations 
infuriated crowd. A fair young g 
the gentlest face struck him witii h 
sol. Suddenly he drew himself 
said, replying to the abuse which wai 
upon him, * You are brave because 
prisoner; not one of you would 
look me in the face if I were free.' 

At La Roquette (writes tlie arl 
respondent of the same paper) th 
ing of prisoners was done by 
who did not understand their wor 
officer ordered them to stand ne 
that the muzzles of the guns almost 
their victims. To make sure of 
first shot, they went up to each an< 
revolver in his ear. Strange to say, t 



* The circumstances of Duval's death are thus narrated by Colonel Lamber 
deposition published in the EnqttSte Pariementaire sur V Insurrection du iS 2 
order of the National Assembly : ' Quand la troupe de Duval a M prise le 
Yinoy a demand^ : *' Y-a-il un chef ? " II est sorti des rangs un jeune hon 
adit, "C'est moi; je suis Duval.** Le g^n^ral adit, "Faites-le fusilier.*' II 
bravement. II a die, *' Fusillez-moi." Un autre homme est venu disant, " Jc 
chef d'^tat-major du g^n^ral Duval.** II a ^t& fusill^ — trois en tous 4 cett 
This blue book on the Commune is the best source of information we have 
subject. 



The International Working Men's Association, 



189 



only slightly wounded, who so well 
d death that the sailors said, ' He 
need of an extra shot,* and passed 

the others were shot their bodies 
led on him, and in this dreadful 

he lay for seven hours. At last 
up, and approaching the sentinels 
Heu m*a sauv^ ; sauvez-moi.' He 
t at once. 

where the same writer says: 

risoners, men and women — for many 
rere shot — all died ' game.* 
column of prisoners (wrote the 
fW8 correspondent of June 8) halted 
A.yenue TJhrich, and was drawn up, 
five deep, on the footway facing the 
General Marquis de Galifet and his 
[mounted and commenced an inspec- 
>m the left of the line. Walking 
owly and eyeing the ranks, the Ge- 
topped here and there, tapping a 
the shoulder or beckoning him out 

rear ranks In most cases 

: further parley the individual thus 
i was marched out into the centre of 
id, where a small supplementjiry co- 
ns thus soon formed. It was evi- 
lere was considerable room for error, 
nted officer pointed out to General 

a man and woman for some parti- 
flfence. The woman, rushing out of 
iks, threw herself on her knees and 
itstretched arms protested her inno- 
n passionate terms. The General 
for a pause, and then with most im- 
e face and unmoved demeanour said, 
ne, I have visited every theatre in 
your acting will have no effect upon 
twas not a good thing on that day 
noticeably taller, dirtier, cleaner, 
r uglier than one's neighbours. One 
aal particularly struck me as pro- 
owing his speedy release from 
g of this world to his having a 

nose Over a hundred being 

losen, a firing party told off, and the 

resumed its march, leaving them 
A few minutes afterwards a drop- 
re commenced in our rear and con- 
for upwards of a quarter of an hour, 
the execution of these summarily 
ed wretches. 

many wounded have been buried 
I have not the slightest doubt 

the correspondent of the Even- 
tandard). One case I can vouch 

When Brunei and his mistress 
lot on the 24th ult. in the courtyard 
house in the Place Vendome, the 
lay there until the afternoon of the 

When the burial party came to re- 
the corpses, they found the woman 



living still, and took her to an ambulance* 
Though she had received four bullets, 
she is now out of danger. 10,000 were 
killed in one week. 

Another English paper writes: 

With stray shots still ringing in tlie 
distance, and untended wounded wretches 
dying amid the tombstones of P^re la 
Chaise; with 6,000 terror-stricken insnr- 
gents wandering in an agony of despair in 
the labyrinth of the catacombs, andwretcbea 
hurrying along the streets to be shot down 
in scores by the mitrailleuse; it is revolt- 
ing to see the caf^s filled with the votaries 
of absinthe, billiards, and dominoes, and 
female revelry disturbing the night 

A French writer in the JowmoX 

de Paris quotes the well-known 

passage from Tacitus : 

Yet on the morrow of that horrible 
struggle, even before it was completely over, 
Home disgraced and corrupt began once- 
more to wallow in the voluptuous slough 
which was destroying her body and cor- 
rupting her soul. 

In the meantime many of the 
leaders and noted Internationalists 
had perished on the barricades or 
by the sword without trial, and 
with every possible insult and re- 
finement of cruelty. Milliere was 
shot with circumstances of pecu- 
liar barbarity. He was sentenced 
to be shot at the Pantheon kneel- 
ing, so as to show penitence for 
the crimes he had committed. He 
refused, baring his breast to the 
muskets pointed at him. The 
officer charged with the execution 
insisted, saying, *You are acting; 
you wish it to be said how you die ; 
die quietly.* Still Milliere refused, 
and still the officer parleyed ; finally 
the unhappy man was forced on his 
knees by two soldiers, and died 
heroically, crying, * Vive Thu- 
manit^!* The wife of Tony Moilin 
begged the body of her husband for 
interment, but her request was not 
granted, and he was buried in the 
common pit with the rest. Many 
leading men, among them Ranvier 
and Serraillier, both reported as 
shot, succeeded in making their es- 
cape to England, and the fate of 



190 



The International Working Men^a Associution. [. 



some still remains doubtful. Among 
the victims of the fusillades of 
the Versailles troops was the gifted 
young musician Salvador, who had 
quitted Algiers at the commencement 
of the war. How Rossel and Ferre, 
shot in company, met their death 
we all know. Rossel occupied his 
last hour with devotions; Ferre, 
ail avowed atheist, dressed himself 
vnith extreme care, and when his 
toilette was over quietly chatted, as 
he said, en ami with the friendly 
priest who visited him, and died 
cigarette in hand. Hundreds were 
despatched to New Caledonia ; and 
months — nay, a year and more — 
after the fall of the Commune, tardy 
executions continued at Satory, to 
the horror of every civilised nation. 
It is impossible in a brief survey 
of this kind to do more than glance 
at what was happening in the pro- 
vinces during this time. At Rouen, 
Bordeaux, Marseilles, Limoges, and 
Lyons the Commune had been pro- 
claimed under the auspices of 
Aubry, Felix Pyat, Lafargue, son- 
in-law of Marx, Bastelica, Amou- 
reux, and others, chiefly Inter- 
nationalists. Fifty cities in all 
showed signs of the same feeling. 
At Limoges the departure of a 
detachment to Versailles was hin- 
dered, the Government of Thiers 
disfirmed by the mayor, and the 
Commune proclaimed. At Mar- 
seilles the red flag was hoisted on 
the 23rd of April, and an insur- 
rectionary movement only put down 
with great difficulty, but it was, 
above all, at Lyons that the popular 
rising took serious shape. Already 
on the 4th of September of the 
preceding year the so-called Inter- 
national Commune was proclaimed, 
a committee of public safety orga- 
nised and accepted by the municipal 
council, and the pr^fet of the 
Versailles Government disclaimed. 
It was only after a severe encounter 
in the following May that the in- 
surrection was put down, and the 



fall of the Commune of Lye 
speedily followed by the tal 
Paris. The history of th« 
ceedings at Lyons is most i 
tive, and cannot be too ca 
studied by those who w 
understand the real state of 
in France on the fall of the i 

Meantime the solidarity 
International with the Coi 
was avowed by the General C 
and also by the foreign sect 
Europe and America, a step 
more than any former line < 
duct brought disrepute up( 
Association. Odger and I 
seceded from its ranks, and i 
nection with the British 
unions was severed. 

Meetings were also held at G 
Brussels, Vienna, and other 
denouncing the summary exec 
and protracted vengeance < 
French Government, and earl 
were taken to aid such refu§ 
should succeed in making 
escape to this country. In J 
veral exiles who at one time 
supposed to have been kilh 
tably Ranvier and Serraillii 
sisted at the meetings h< 
High Holbom, and a good c 
money was collected in small 
for the benefit of the rest. To 1 
temational, indeed, more thj 
other source, the unfortuna 
fugees were mainly indebted 
necessaries of life in the first inj 
IdAuy of these were men oi 
standing and culture, who, wh 
ploring the crimes of the Com 
had been compromised by 1 
part in it, and who were thank 
the time to accept the post of I 
teachers. The greatness of 
sufferings has not been overrj 

But could any punisl 
obloquy, or privation be too 
for the incendiaries of Pari 
murderers of an archbishop r 
us consider the facts a little, 
true history of the Commuri 
yet to b3 written, but those 



1875] 



The International Working Men^s Association. 



191 



are ready to endorse the harsh 
Terdict of the world and the fierce 
retribution of its conquerors should 
remember one or two circumstances 
that might at least mitigate their 
indignation. In the first place, 
there can be no doubt that the Com- 
mane was unpremeditated and un- 
foreseen by the better men among 
its after adherents; and in the 
second place, for the excesses that 
preceded its downfall, many of its 
origioal projectors were not an- 
snrerable. Then it must be taken 
into account that the privations 
of the siege had been enormously 
aggrayated to the working classes, 
who had neither money nor 
hoards of provisions to fall back 
apoQ when the bread was so adul- 
terated that the modicum of nu- 
tritaous matter was all but nil. 
The position of the Parisian work- 
men under the Empire had been 
a most unsatisfactory one, and their 
nombeis had been enormously in- 
creased by the amount of hands 
wanted for the public works then 
under conBtruction. The necessaries 
of life had risen extravagantly in 
price, but wages by no means in pro- 
portion. Strikes, meetings, and agi- 
tations were illegal, and associations 
for the purpose of raising wages were 
punishable by three months' impri- 
sonment. Is . it matter of surprise 
that grievances and passions so long 
pent up burst forth m a vindictive- 
ness towards the richer classes per- 
haps only equalled during the Great 
Bevolution ? No wonder, moreover, 
that the terribly humiliating terms 
of peace, and the stipulated entry of 
the Prussians into Paris, maddened 
them, and that in a fury with the 
Government — created, be it borne 
in nund, by the people's revolution 
of the 4th of September — they 
seized and removed to Montmartre 
the cannon abandoned by the capu 
tulardSf saying, ' If the Prussians 
want them, let them take them.' 
Can it be doubted that on that 



bitter iSfch of March many an 
honest, high-souled man" and many 
a sincere patriot felt, like Rossel, 
that he had no longer a country, 
that France was ruined ; there was 
no more national patriotism, no 
more courage, no more honour ? 

On the 19th I learned that the city had 
rushed to arms, and I clung desperately to 
the rag of a country left to mo. I did not 
know who were the insurgents ; I only 
knew against whom they had risen. That 
sufficed me. 

It is quite a mistake to suppose 
that the leadera of the Commune were 
low ruffians and schemers, or that 
its members were all either dupes 
or scoundrels. An English clergy- 
man writing in the Spectator de- 
scribed the admirable way in which 
Paris was governed by those so- 
called villains on whom a writer 
in the Naval and Military Gazette of 
May 27 proposed to practise vivi- 
section, hanging being much too 
good a death for such malefactors. 
The former writer described Paris as 
perfectly quiet and free from crime, 
without one single policeman, in place 
of the ten thousand necessary under 
the Empire. No more corpses at 
the Morgue, no more nocturnal bur- 
glaries, scarcely any robberies ; in 
fact, for the first time since 1848 
the streets of Paris were safe. The 
decrees of the Commune were as 
follows : to suppress the police and 
standing army, to throw open all 
schools and educational institutions 
gratuitously, to reduce the pay of 
public servants to that of work- 
men's wages, to put a stop to the 
night labour of journeymen bakers, 
to prohibit the sale of articles at 
the Mont de Piet6, to surrender to 
associations of workmen, under re- 
serve of compensation, all closed 
workshops and factories. These 
acts were not monstrous ; and it 
must be borne in mind that the 
disbanded army had mowed down 
the people and established a cor- 
rupt Empire twenty years before^ 



192 



The International Working MeWs Assoeiaiion, 



and that the disbanded police bad 
been the bated agents of Imperial 
surveillance and terrorism. In fact, 
to quote the words of a writer in 
the Fortnightly Review (Dr. Hum- 
phry Sandwith) : 

The Bed Republicans of Paris having at 
their command a force of 100,000 men, 
provided with first-rate arms and artillery, 
carrying on a regular government, expect- 
ing the support of all the large cities of 
France, with the well-grounded hope of 
being joined by most of the regular soldiers, 
as they had been by some, ought not to be 
confounded with vulgar insurgents. The 
contest with such a force amounted to 
neither more nor less than civil war, and 
prisoners taken during the contest de- 
served to be treated as prisoners of war. 
One has scarcely patience to allude to the 
vulgar calumny that the leaders of the 
Commune were the scum of society. Even 
the Times allows that some of the chiefs 
•were journalists, doctors, lawyers, men of 
property, &c. Considering that the regu- 
lar army of Paris had less than twenty 
years before committed a foul massacre, 
and enthroned a clique of needy adventurers, 
who enriched themselves by plundering 
every department of the State, and so 
ruined their army and country ; and consi- 
dering that one of the first demands of the 
Commune was to keep out of the city this 
same army for the future ; I must needs 
assert that I regret they appealed to arms, 
but that most of our wars have been waged 
with infinitely less excuse, and many of 
our statues glorify men who have wop 
honours in worse causes. 

But the shooting of the hostages ? 
and the incendiaries ? In the be- 
ginning of the contest Thiers had 
put to death all prisoners captured 
in the fight ; and in order to stop 
this practice it was thought neces- 
sary to seize hostages and threaten 
reprisals. For some time after seiz- 
ing the Archbishop and others the 
Versailles butcheries ceased. When, 
however, it was discovered at Ver- 
sailles that the prisoners of the 
Commune were spared, then those 
of the Versailles Government were 
again shotdovni without trial. Four 
National Guards having surrendered 
to a troop of mounted chasseurs, were 
afterwards shot one after another 
by the captain. One of the four 



victims, left for dead, craw 
to the Parisian outposts s 
the story. Continued effo 
made to exchange the Ar( 
for Blanqui ; half a dozen pr 
deed, being offered for the c 
so precious to the Commune 
refused, and the real mur< 
the Archbishop — so say tl: 
munists — is Thiers, and n 
Certain it is that not till tl 
criminate slaughter in the 
of Paris had lasted five dj 
the execution had been 
again and again, did it 
take place. In respect of h 
the Commune but foUov 
example of the Emperor 
many, who placed foremost 
French towns and cities on 
engines, so as to make tl 
victims of any havoc causec 
enemy ; though, be it reme 
these were men who ha< 
fired a shot against the Pj 
The burning of Paris was 
by a writer in the Times t 
act of warfare. It is in "^ 
wrote, to say that savage i 
and the most refined ba 
placed the torch in the banc 
incendiaries. 

It is a strange fact (he adds) th 
these men declared unrelenting 
against religion, not one church 
has been destroyed, whilst, on 
hand, two popular theatres hav( 
duced to ruins. It is not mere 
which has led to this result, n 
desire to work mischief; the i 
followed a plan of defence cone< 
arranged beforehand, and for w 
had prepared instruments and fn 
cial corpa. 

On which Dr. Humphry Sj 
laconically comments : 

Our papers have characterised 1 
diarism as demoniacal. I will n« 
the term for a moment. Mos 
warfare are demoniacal ; but, foi 
part, I would rather set fire to S 
or even Westminster Abbey, as 
defensive warfare, than superir 
play of fifty pieces of artillery u 
sands of living human bodies. 1 



The ItUemaiional Working Metii'e AsaodaUon. 



193 



ich acts as the wilful destruction of 
al buildings as pieces of malice to- 
he enemy are out of date. No such 
an be cited since the dark ages, ex- 
f perhaps, the destruction of the 
r ±*alace of the Emperor of China 
ish authority.' 

Is a significant fact that no 
shman took part in the Com- 
, whilst its defenders nnm- 

within its ranks 300 Poles, 
Lilians, 165 Belgians, 50 Rus- 

50 Hungarians and Moldo* 
chians, a few Spaniards, and 
nnans. 

i what did the Commnne 
? The programme put forth 
nril 19 gives a clear exposition 
IT views : 

demands of the Commune are : re- 
on and consolidation of the Republic, 
;6 independence of the Commune 
extension to every locality in France. 
le association of the Communes that 
ecree the unity of France. Inherent 
of the Communal right of voting 
mmnn«.l budget of receipts and ex- 
xre, of regulating and reforming the 
of taxation, and of directing local 
8 ; the right to organise its own 
racy, the internal police, and public 
bn, and to administer the property 
ing to the Commune ; the right of 
ig by election with responsibility, and 
lanent right of control and removal 
Communsd magistrates and officials ; 
^ht of individual liberty under an 
to guarantee, liberty of conscience 
wrty of labour ; right of permanent 
mtion by the cities in Communal 
and a fi:^e defence of their interests, 
itee being given for such manifesta- 
by the Commune, with the duty of 
Qg and securing the free and just 
>f meeting and publicity ; the right of 
sing the urban defence and National 
, which is to elect its own chiefs, and 
rovide for the maintenance of order 
cities. The Communal resolutions of 
18 inaugurated a new era, political, 
e, and scientific ; it was the end of 
i official and clerical world, of the mili- 
Qd bureaucratic regime, of jobbing in 
olies and privileges, to which the 
Ig class owes its state of servitude 
ranco its misfortunes. 



The Commune was soon thrown 
into confusion hy the want of au- 
thority centred in a single chief, 
and its most capable leaders were 
harassed and frustrated at every 
step by the pushing of the demo- 
cratic principle to an extreme. 
BiOBsel was an able man, but Bossers 
ability was rendered powerless by 
the constant necessity of deferring 
his actions to the general vote, and 
so it was with others. In the evi* 
dence before alluded to published 
by order of the National As- 
sembly, this is abundantly shown, 
as well as by writers on the other 
side. There were, moreover, in 
Paris, after the elections, three 
powers — the Commune, the Comit6 
Central, and the Federation of 
the National Guards. There were 
some battalions which obeyed cer- 
tain chiefs, on their own authoriiy 
solely ; and a certain C6risier is 
cited, by way of example, who 
obeyed neither the Commune nor 
the Comit6 Central, nor the Fede- 
ration of National Guards, but 
placed his battalions where he chose. 
In the words of a recent writer on 
the subject, Mr. Frederick Harri- 
son, in his Thoughts on Oovemment^ 
it was the suicide of the democra- 
tic principle, which offered itself up 
to extinction in a perfect orgy of 
self-assertion. ' No one who has 
not studied it can conceive of the 
grotesque confusion which every 
department of defence was con- 
tinually being thrown into by the 
insane passion for doing everything 
by votes.' 

Again, it must be taken into con- 
sideration that the scum of the Pa- 
risian population, native and foreign, 
had now joined the movement, 
and that those of its leaders who 
would fain have prevented their 
excesses were all but powerless. As 
it was, the evidence of Tolain, before 



If Commune and Christianitt/, reprinted from the Fortnightly Beview, by Dr. 
hry Sandwith. 

[,. XII. — SO. LXVm. UEW SEBIES. P 



194 



The InternaMonal Working Men* 8 Association, \ 



alluded to, shows that those to 
whom the protection of public 
buildings was due were chiefly In- 
ternationalists — Theisz, Cam61inat, 
Avrial, Clement, and another, who 
in their several Sbdministratiye capa- 
cities saved the churches in their 
arrondissementSy the Post Office, the 
Mint, and other structures. * The 
principal members of the Interna- 
tional,' said Tolain, 'who adhered to 
the Commune, did not take part in 
deeds of violence.' Among the Com- 
munist leaders were many hostile to 
the Intemational,notably F61ix Pyat, 
Baoul Bigault, Delescsluze, Cournet. 
The Association had furthermore lost 
controlling power before the climax 
drew near, and there seems every 
reason to believe that the insurrec- 



tion took rise within the ran) 
National Guards as much a 
those of the International 
more usually believed. Ir 
quence of the sufierings of t 
a large number of the bette 
had quitted Paris as soon 
armistice was declared. 1 
was left to the National 
and the National Guards w( 
pletely demoralised. The 
tunate General Clement 
saw this, and said on the 
der of the forts, * All is lo 
no one obeys orders. I a 
three thousand men ; three '. 
came when summoned. The] 
Guards are disorganised, a 
elements of disorder are 
Paris.' 



(7b be continued,) 



Erratum 

In July Number, p. 73, col. 2, line 20, 
for Karl Marxung, a Swiss, read Karl Marx, Jung, a Swiss. 




1875] 



195 



GERMAN HOME LIFE. 
Bt a Ladt. 



n.-DRESS AND AMUSEMENTS. 

DRESS means something more 
than clothes, and these than co- 
vering. The fig-leaves of our first 
parents were but symbols, whereof 
the meaning is vastly more import, 
anfc than a mere superficial glance 
might suggest. Dress should, as 
&r as is possible, translate to us 
ihe character of the wearer ; it 
should bear about it some indivi- 
duality, some mark of special iden- 
tity, 80 that we feel the husk or hull 
is in harmony with the kernel. 

Di'BSs, to use a homely simile, 
should, like tkfilet-iJb-bceuf, be neither 
overdone nor underdone ; it should 
hit the happy medium. The dress 
of German ladies errs in both par- 
ticulars ; that of the morning leaves 
much to be desired, that of the 
afternoon offers much that might 
he dispensed with. Without plenty 
of money we cannot have rich dress, 
bat we may, none the less, have all 
that is essential to comeliness and 
comfort. We are bound, to use a 
commercial phrase, to make our 
appearance ' as good as we can for 
the money.' With well-arranged 
^r, tidy shoes, mended gloves, 
^d clean linen at her throat 
*nd wrists, no woman can look ill. 
•^ poor lady in a plain black gown, 
^th no other than such simple 
^dornmentfl, but with that sense of 
"^hness and care about her that 
should always accompany a woman's 
presence, may look as noble as — 
*ye, and far nobler than — all the 
Piippets of the * fashion plates,' or 
t^eir more ambitious sisterhood, 
decked in the pre-Raphaelite miUi- 
^ery of modem dilettante dress. 
A woman who respects herself and 
loves her husband will never be 
A dowd ; she dare not be a slattern. 
Urge means may be denied her, 
^Qt cleanliness and care are always 



within her reach ; and if, as has 
been somewhat hastily asserted, a 
woman's dress be the index of her 
mind, it behoves her all the more 
to see that it be well ordered, scru- 
pulous, and not devoid of dignity. 

In many a room where the furni- 
ture would not * bear daylight' from 
an art, or even from an auctioneer's 
point of view, a happy fancy, a pot 
of flowers, a cosy corner, a bloom- 
ing window-ledge, a book, a sketch, 
a glint of sunshine, a dash of colour, 
an atmosphere indefinable, that 
tells of a woman's presence and a 
woman's care, may cover all the 
multitudinous sins of the offending 
tables and chairs, and make us 
forget, or even, better still, forgive, 
the general shortcomings of the 
apartment. 

We like to believe of beauty, that 
it would be as beautiful in the de- 
sert, for the sun and the sand and 
the sky, as it is in the ball-room, 
where, by one consent, it is crowned 
* belle.' A German lady under- 
standsnothing of such wild theories ; 
she does not even appreciate the 
' sweet civility' that lies in the fiwt 
of a woman coming to her husband's 
or father's breakfast-table trim, 
fresh, and fragrant ; on the con- 
trary, she issues from her bed- 
room in a fboBe wrapper, carpet or 
felt slippers, and with what, in your 
haste, you will call a nightcap. 
Courtesy demands that it shall be 
spoken of as a Morgenhauhe^ and 
in the sense that the nightcap pro- 
per has been taken off, and replaced 
by a tumbled edition, we ^ may 
accede to the term ; otherwise it has 
no pretension to be dignified by any 
finer name than you have given it. 
With hair undressed, and stuffed 
away in plaits or curls under the 
muslin topknot, in the most un- 
compromising of deshabilles, the 
lady presides over the scene of 

p 2 



196 



Oerman Home Life. 



[Angnsi 



sloppy slovenlinesB to which allu- 
sion has been made in a former 
chapter. If yon have seen her en 
toilette the night before, meeting 
her now yon will scarcely recognise 
the fairy vision of yonr dreams. 
The elaborate frisnre, where great 
masses of hair lay piled, Juno-like, 
above the brow, or rippled in sunny 
curls lovingly over the uncovered 
shoulders ; the sweeping silks, the 
charming coquetries, have all dis- 
appeared, vice a singularly unattrac- 
tive and xmgraceful style of apparel 
promoted. At first you wiU imagine 
you have stumbled upon the house- 
keeper, who, suffering from dolor- 
ous tic, has arisen to a hasty per- 
formance of her morning duties 
and donned this surreptitious cos- 
tume; but (fortunately for German 
women) hospitality, as we under- 
stand it — ^the hospitality of spare 
rooms, that is — is a thing unknown, 
and the occasions when a stranger 
can gaze upon the Hausfrau deguisee 
en jpapilloies are necessarily very 
restricted. There is only the hus- 
band, and the husband knows no 
better; he would be startled out of 
his ordinary phlegma should his 
wife appear * finished' at that early 
hour of the day, and would think 
that sudden frenzy had seized her 
for its own. 

Many years ago, when Germany 
was as yet a terra incognita to me, 
I arrived late one evening at the 
gates of a grand ancestral Schloss. 
The ladies assembled were in all the 
gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls. 
It was too late to tear open trunks 
and take out a fresh toilet. Dust- 
defaced and travel-stained, I sat 
dejectedly amongst them, and slowly 
and sadly resigned myself to cir- 
cumstances ; but next morning I 
confessed that fate was not all un- 
kind. ' Good morning, my dear,' 
said my host ; ' but — but — ^you are 
mistaken ; we do not expect the 
Grand Duke ! ' I certainly had 
made no preparation for royalty, 
and only a dim understanding of 



the drift of his words dawned 
upon me as I gazed round on the 
dazzling creatures of the night 
before, and found they had all dis- 
appeared into nightcaps and dress- 
ing-gowns. What a falling-ofi* was 
there I 

Nevertheless, they were much 
displeased and thought it be- 
tokened an insular arrogance when 
I ventured to remark that, if the 
Grand Duke liad come, I should 
have made no change in my dress. 
While they would have been 
scrambling out of their dressing- 
gowns and screaming for their maids, 
I should have been calmly contented 
in my clean holland gown; but 
that you should dare to receive in 
a cotton gown a person of elevated 
rank coming unawares upon you be- 
tokens, to the German female mind, 
an insensibility and an ignorance of 
the hiensSamces that verges on crimi- 
nal lunacy. You ought to show that 
you have ' dressed ' for the occasion* 
Any other behaviour is in their 
eyes mean, republican, vulgar, and 
low, and quite inconsistent with those 
ideas of subjection in ^ hich every 
well-conducted German woman has 
been educated from her youth up. 
To be well dressed does not mean 
to wear the clothing most appro- 
priate to the occasion, but to 
have on your last new gown, with, 
if possible, twenty yards more 
trimming and six dozen more but- 
tons than anyone else has. In 
Germany women dress for the pro- 
menade, the coffee party, the 
theatre, the public gardens. As a 
rule, they have no great means at 
their command ; but with what they 
have they contrive to bring about 
as disastrous a result as their worst 
enemies could wish. They have no 
intuitions of the becoming; they 
have not even the feminine 'in- 
stincts ' of dress ; the rudiments of 
it are as yet unknown to them. In 
second and third-rate towns one 
draper and two or three miUiners 
will supply all the resident belles. 



Oerman Home Life. 



197 



lit is a distressing mono- 
the apparel that per- 
e streets. Now and again 
Ider spirit will be visited 
ispiration ' on the subject, 
erally after such a fashion 
»nse yon to return thanks 
•e are so few prophetesses in 
I. Such flights of fancy 
ly viewed by the weaker 
)d with approbation, and 
is almost sure to overtake 
•er. Yet no one will annoy 
jr native town. Her com- 
may covertly titter at her 
itimate elbows be not too 
i to nudge each other in 
reprobation as she passes 
may jibe and another may 
he ill-assorted finery; but 
citizen, street-boy, artisan, 
x)ry girl has known the 
rom her youth up, no pal- 
5onvenience will result from 
ny TVren's little sumptuary 
mts. 

m dress has no originality 
hie. It is snatched wildly, 
1 left, from French fashion 
id English advertisements, 
result of this hybrid com- 
is, if judged by the canons 
little short of atrocious, 
independent yet modest 
y of dress ; of the SBsthetio 
it of such 'hulls' as poor 
y is condemned to wear, of 
jiony of well-chosen low- 
nts ; of unity of effect in 
3sponding shades of gloves, 
and bonnet, or the judicious 
ition of dark and light ; of a 
olour on a sober background, 
lary German woman knows 
She has not the courage 
•lain if the Mode Jov/mal 
I is to be elaborate. Her 
sin not even so much by 
as by inappropriateness. 
lathetic results of want of 
1 judgment in this matter 
} are more particularly 
i in the case of elderly 
women. The hair once 



thick is now thin, the neck once 
round and white now coarse and 
red, the delicacy of feature and 
complexion a thiilg; of the past ; aU 
is hard, used, prosaic. The French- 
woman puffs her delicate grey hair 
into feathery curls, hides the 
hollows, and repairs the ravages 
of time with cascades of lace ; 
graceful draperies soft as cobwebs 
set her face in a filmy framework, 
infinitely charming ; soft, tender 
shades of colour approach the fieuled 
cheek without outraging it; and 
English elderly ladies follow, with 
more or less success, in the same 
judicious train; but the German 
woman shows her bald patches, her 
unattractive throat, her awkward 
figure, without disguise and without 
remorse. No cap covers the wisp 
of hair that out of an abundant 
chevelure is all that remains to her ; 
there is neither grace nor dignity 
in h^r gown ; coarse collars and 
crotchet frills tumble helplessly on 
her elderly shoulders. ' What does 
it matter r ' is plainly written in the 
general neglect of her appearance, 
which strikes one painfuUy, less as 
an absence of vanity than as a want 
of self-respect. Younger folk can 
perhaps afford to be careless, but 
an elderly woman should be scru- 
pulous ; she may even be a little 
elaborate as to her 'setting' and 
no one will rise up and reproach 
her. It is sweet and pleasant to 
see that she is careful for others 
long after all personal vanity is ex- 
tinct ; that she arranges her dra^ea/u 
de vieUle f em/me gracefully and 
still adorns the world, with which 
she has almost done, by a gracious 
presence. 

Perhaps in no country is dress 
so much talked of as in Germany, 
with so little result. Tartans of the 
most eccentric colours and arrange- 
ment are always en vogue. Let the 
Cushion-books say they are modish, 
and they become the rage. They bear 
no resemblance to the clan-tartans 
with which we are all more or less 



198 



Oerman Some Life, 



[Angnsi; 



familiar; they are lurid combinations 
of clashing colonrs, evolved out of 
the enterprising manufactorer's spe- 
culative brain, hideous and alarm- 
ing to the unaccustomed eye. Let 
ft woman be short, broad, and sandy ; 
she will clothe herself triumphantly 
in a scarlet and yellow tartan, and 
yet expect to be thought in her 
right mind. Let her be tall and 
sallow, a disastrous green wiU check 
her angular person in dismal repe- 
tition from top to toe. 

There are certain aspects of toilette 
in which the Englishwoman is al- 
lowed all over the Continent to be un- 
approachable. Frenchwomen claim 
the precedence in their toilettes 
de luxe, toilettes de viUej t-oilettes 
de lal; but they concede us the 
palm in the matter of travelling 
costume, in our hats and habits, in 
our umbrellas, walking-boots, and 
waterproofs. English travelling cos- 
tumes, quiet in colour, tasteful, 
simple, elegant, and modest; the 
snowy linen collars and cuffs, with 
their simple solid sleeve-links and 
throat brooch, that set off the bru- 
nette's dark skin and make the 
blonde more dazzling ; the tidy felt 
or straw hat, which no weather can 
spoil or put out of shape ; the neat 
umbrella, trimly furled; the light 
waterproof ; the sensible boots, are 
all beginning to be imitated on the 
Continent; but as yet German 
ladies have not exactly appreciated 
the gist of the matter. To them 
such a dress is more or less of a 
masquerade ; worn less for prac- 
tical purposes than because it is 
* the fashion to wear it.* They have 
never in their lives been accustomed 
to the rough outdoor exercise to 
which the most gently bred amongst 
us are used from childhood; to 
them the * constitutional ' is only 
known through English novels; 
they do not set off for a long 
stretch across the moor, or to walk 
to the neighbouring town *for the 
sake of the exercise.* Such mus- 
cular femininity is foreign to their 



lives ; and the dress that makes this 
sort of outdoor activity indepen- 
dent of elemental combinations must 
necessarily be an unwonted garb to 
them. They will perhaps have 
adopted the tweed or homespun cos- 
tume ; but the material will be half 
cotton, and will shrink out of re- 
cognition in the first shower of 
rain ; the hat will be there, but, in- 
stead of leaving it unadorned, and 
gracing its native felt at most with 
a flat, unspoilable ribbon and wing, 
it will be covered with a forest of 
feeble feathers, that the wind and 
the mist will cause to droop deject- 
edly, like weeping willows, around 
the face of the disconsolate wearer. 
A sense of the fitness of things will 
tell a woman ' to the manner bom' 
that Balmoral boots and a* home- 
spun gown demand stout linen 
collars and cuffs ; but ruffles being 
' the fiskshion,* the fair Grerman pla- 
giarist will carry tulle round her 
neck on a mountain tour, and, quite 
unconscious of incongruity, wear a 
huge Elizabethan frill, with a coafse 
woollen costume. The same malig- 
nant showers that have played havoc 
with her hat and gown will have 
sent all the starch out of her frills 
and furbelows, and made them fer- 
tile sources of dissatisfaction: the 
thin stuff boots with sham holes, 
simulating good honest balmorals, 
are as useless as though she were 
shod with brown paper ; mountains 
cannot be climbed nor tempests de- 
fied in such a costume ; the whole 
thing will have turned out a delusioi» 
and a snare, and the temper of the 
disappointed traveller mil suffer, 
certainly partial, probably total, 
eclipse. 

' The thing that charmed me most 
in our Swiss tour,* said a frank Ger- 
man gentleman to me, ' was to see 
the freedom, the enjoyment of life, 
the fresh spirits, of your Unglish 
girls. They were ready at any hour 
of the morning, fix tmd feriig; 
they were everywhere; they had 
one waterproof gown in which they 



Qerman Home Life. 



199 



Gkll their expeditions; and their 
3 and brothers seemed to find 
lo trouble. I liked to see their 
enjoyment. I liked their boots 
ockmgs,' cried the ingenuous 
Doan in a rapture of enthusi- 
they were so trim and tidy 
didn't matter though it rained 
id dogs and pitchforks down- 
; they were ready for any 
Br and equal to all occasions.' 
ning from such free open-air 
ences to the closed doors of the 
hours of the day in German 
ife, a striking contrast presents 
to us. During the forenoon, 
!i ladies as cannot indulge in 
xury of a maid, comes the 
selnn — as the ridiculous Gallo- 
mic word conveys, the female 
esser. These women are an 
lable institution, to bo repre- 
1 on more counts than one. 
;h that they encourage idle- 
ud slovenliness in the matter 
t glory which a woman has 
ler head. Until that is ' tired,' 
ly, to use a feminine phrase, 
t fit to be seen.* The Fri- 
-n, like the barber of the comic 
, is a personage and a power; 
nows all the tattle of the 
and the scandal of the neigh- 
X)d. Her very occupation 
her opportunities of gossip 
lake her dangerous, and allow 
study at her ease the weak- 
and defects, moral and phy- 
if those ladies who are deluded 
\i to employ her. Under strict 
ies of secresy she imparts her 
of gossip, and benevolently 
lurther on the road of slander 
etrimental on dit that she 
)y the way. She packs up her 
crushes and combs, mangy fri- 
greasy ribbons and sponges, 
oes cheerfully her unclean 
ag in hand, leaving the lady 
b last to cast her cap and 
Br and appear dressed for the 

chrysalis has become a but- 
able at length to breathe the 



outer air, and show its gorgeous 
hues to the outer world. On the 
promenade, where loungers most do 
congregate, the dilatory fair will 
probably meet many of her ac- 
quaintances; dashing officers re- 
turning from parade will at once 
gladden her eyes and enliven the 
scene. The culminating point of 
satisfaction will be reached should 
happy chance send the hoJie Hert' 
schaft home from their morning 
drive that way. It is pretty to see 
the flutter of devotion and excite- 
ment with which these loyal ladies 
turn right about face (Fronte ma- 
chen), and sink to the ground in 
the billowy bliss of a curtsey that 
literally beams with beatitude. It 
is good to think that there is still 
such blind belief in the world. The 
man may be a Blue Beard of the 
deepest dye; he may lead a life 
scandalous to the beholder; he may 
have the cruellest opinion of women, 
and never forego a sneer at their 
expense; and yet, so be he the 
Prince that reigns over them, these 
devoted ladies will be ready to 
grovel before him in ineflable rap- 
ture. No doubt there are rude 
persons in Germany as elsewhere, 
to whom a grand duke is no mofe 
than any otiier man ; but ' society ' 
would be ready to stone that man 
or woman who should venture to 
declare, in the words of the most 
powerful sovereign that perhaps 
ever lived, that royalty is only en- 
titled to respect in so far as it is 
' respectable.' 

German ladies will tell you that 
the nature of their domestic occu- 
pations makes the cap and dressing- 
gown necessary evils ; that they 
could not go into the kitchen in 
anything that would spoil ; that the 
cap protects the hair from dust, 
and preserves it from the smell of 
frying-pans ; that the ScMafrock can 
be flung ofl* at will, and with it all 
ofiensive odours and reminiscences. 
But,whilst prepared to allow that the 
life of the ordinary German woman 



200 



Oerman Home Life. 



[AngnBt 



is little better than tliat of an upper 
servant, and inclined rather to 
pity the misfortune than to blame 
the fault, we cannot concede the 
position. If there be in the world 
any kitchen where a lady may potter 
harmlessly, that surely is the Ger- 
man kitchen, with its clean hot 
plates, its well- washed brick floor, 
and total absence of dust or soot. 
Yet G-erman ladies during morning 
hours are not nearly so much like 
ladies as our own cooks, who have 
scrubbed, and hearthstoned, and 
blackleaded, and swept, and sent up 
an elaborate breakfast, and yet are 
ready at ten o'clock to take orders 
for dinner in dean cotton gowns, 
tidy aprons, and trim caps. And 
again, everyone who has visited a 
German BadektMr (where no frugal 
thoughts are allowed to disturb 
the hatuffrdndich mind) must be 
fi&miliar with the Noah's-ark-like 
figures moving about in mush- 
room hats over frilled head-gear 
and long, shapeless morning gowns ; 
proving how wedded to this un- 
becoming costume are the fair 
wearers. This rooted sin of sloven- 
liness which gives up the greater 
part of the morning to a slatternly 
incognita is one of the dearest 
privileges of the Hausfrcm ; and, fisu: 
from converting her from the error 
of her ways, by preaching a pro- 
paganda of trim morning attire, you 
will only arouse in her mind a con- 
temptuous pity for the puppet exist- 
ence that would presume to do away 
with the very insignia of virtuous 
domesticity. The Nemesis of a 
neglected toilette cannot overtake 
her as it is sure to overtake the 
ordinary active Englishwoman who 
ventures on the doubtful luxury of 
'breakfast in bed.' She is not 
liable to antemeridian incursions ; the 
clergyman of the parish does not 
descend upon her for small and 
early charities ; aunts and cousins 
do not pop in on their way from 
shopping ; the gentle sluggard is not 
called upon to take her hat down 



from the hall peg and go round the 
garden with a neighbour who wants 
to see her roses ; enthusiastic youths 
(generally cousins) do not call 
upon her for unlimited admira- 
tion of what their rods have done 
since daybreak, nor do gushing girls 
rush in, all health and hoydenism, 
to get her to ' settle with mamma ' 
about to-morrow's boating party or 
next week's picnic. She is safe 
fr^m all intruders. The ladies that 
she knows are not yet * fixed up;' 
and the mysteries of their toilettes 
are equally with hers in the Morgen- 
laiid stages. 

It is not that one desires a 
woman 'still to be dressed as she 
were going to a feast.' That is 
precisely what one does not de- 
sire ; but one wishes to see her 
clean and unruffled ; clad with that 
scrupulousness and simplicity that 
are but the outer symbols of the 
purity and peace within. There is 
something elevating in contact with 
a woman of fresh and fragrant 
presence. A gentle self-respect 
speaks to us through the care and 
propriety of her attire ; she endears 
herself to us by this indirect com- 
pliment paid to our presence ; her 
sweetness comes to us ennobled by 
a dignity which is but an added 
charm. It is difficult to be rude, 
or rough, or coarse in her spotless 
presence ; it is impossible to be 
unduly loud and ^.miliar with a 
woman whoso dress bears the im- 
press at once of refinement and re- 
serve. * Cleanliness,' says St. Ptol, 
'is next to godliness, and even the 
ungodliest man is ready to pat off 
his mental shoes and acknowledge 
he is on holy ground in the presence 
of a pure and spotless woman. We 
do not like to think of any lady 
having to rush away in abjeot 
terror if by chance one of her hus- 
band's friends should call during 
the forenoon. Dress is not with- 
out its influence on address, A 
woman in her right gown will 
seldom be in her wrong temper. 



1875] 



Oerm<m Home Life, 



201 



She will feel at ease, not racked 
as to the ' sit ' of her bib and tucker, 
or exercised as to the angle of her 
topknot. Not needing to think 
of herself, she will be better able to 
think of her guests, and will enter 
into the conversation of the moment 
with a gaieiy and gusto that will 
charm her visitors. Should, on 
the contrary, her gown *gag,* her 
shoes be down at heel, her hair 
untidy, embarrassment and pre- 
occupation will sit heavy upon her. 
The evening dress of German 
ladies is £fir superior to their walk- 
ing attire ; in the first place it is 
appropriate, the really beautiful 
haur ox German women being seen 
to great advantage undisfigured by 
the MorgenluLuhey or the often 
tasteless headgear of the promenade. 
AgfliTi^ the sin of dirty white or 
£Bded coloured gowns is unknown ; 
crisp muslin and tarlatan, Mv fresh 
ffices, and pretty gay-coloured toi- 
lettes make a German ball-room 
a pleasing spectacle; there is, per- 
haps, very little luxury, but many 
l^ht and charming effects, to be 
observed on such occasions. 

The daughters of the bourgeoisie 
bave a particular affection for low 
dresses, and one is struck by the 
nmnber of bare necks and shoulders 
that may be seen during an after- 
noon's walk or drive in the con- 
rious summer-houses that border 
roadway. But this, again, is 
only the clinging to an exploded 
bsnion, for the pictures of the 
period tell us that our own grand- 
mothers and mothers went bare- 
necked in the days of their youth. 
Cosmetics, paints, and washes, 
mrioomons fluids and Tynan dyes. 
We not as yet entered into 
German home life. But amongst 
tbe 'npper ten ' they are as popular 
in G^ermany as elsewhere. Personal 
lemarks are not^ as with us, con- 
sidered ill-bred. On the contrary, 
they are almost de rigueur. K you 
do not admire loudly and openly, 
yoa will disappoint your friends; 



and they will think their effect is 
not good, and that all their efforts 
have been in vain. * Nein ! aber wie 
schon ! ' says a friend to you ; and 
whilst you modestly reply, *No, 
really ; but you are yourself charm- 
ing,' the same reciprocities will 
be passing all around you. No 
lady hesitates to ask where you got 
your gown, and how much it cost 
the ell. A friend of mine once 
travelled from the Dan of the North 
to the Beersheba of the South in a 
grey tweed waterproof costume; 
and in every railway carriage she 
entered during the journey she 
was asked the price of the dross, 
the name of the material, and whence 
it came. With the reply, * From 
England,' the unfailing remark, 
*Da8 hab' ich mir schon gleich ge- 
dacht,' showed the appreciative 
faculty of the gentle questioners; but 
the price outraged them. To spend 
such a sum on Burner e travelling dress 
— on a dress that was to keep you 
warm, and dry, and comfortable ; 
that was light, and water-tight, 
and almost untearable — seemed to 
them an altogether unpardonable 
extravagance. 

German women are almost en- 
tirely without personal vanity. 
Their solicitude about their clothes, 
the time spent in talking toilette, 
has its pathetic as well as its twad- 
dling side. One may read beneath 
the telk of tags and rags, of chignons 
and chiffons, a very real and a very 
painful humility. What, in our 
haste, we may take for vanity is just 
the reverse of it. This very anxiety 
as to appearance, this wearisome 
discussion of sumptuary details, 
betrays a want of self-confi- 
dence, of self-reliance, almost of 
self-respect, that at once grieves 
and depresses the outsider. They 
have no confidence in themselves, 
no belief in being able to please 
but by virtue of their coverings ; 
their dress must do it, not they; 
a German girl would expect a man 
to fall in love with her, if at all, 



202 



German Borne Infe, 



[August 



wlien she had her best gown on ; 
the gown counts for so much more, 
to her humble mind, than the body 
and the soul inside it. The very 
words ' Putz,' * geputzt/ have an 
eminently displeasing ring of taw- 
driness about them, suggestive of 
incongruous frippery and finery. 

Dress ceases to be a pleasure 
when it becomes a source of strifes 
and envyings. The life of the or- 
dinary Grerman woman is, per- 
haps, above all others, calculated 
to develop that faculty for 'the 
infinitely little ' which reduces 
existence to the dead level of Phi- 
listinism, and to encourage that 
mean personal estimate of things 
which Goethe inveighs against as 
the Qemeinheii des Lehens. In 
this spirit women, otherwise really 
amiable and estimable, will t«ar a 
toilette to tatters, pry, inspect, 
cavil, and condemn with a perti- 
nacity worthy of a better cause 
throughout a whole afternoon. 

Men in Germany are rarely seen 
out of uniform ; when they are, it 
is greatly to their disadvantage. 
Yet such is the inconsistency of 
human nature that nothing afibrds 
a young officer so much delight as 
to elude the vigilance of his Vorge' 
setztejif and appear at a picnic or 
on an excursion en civil. In Ger- 
many, where everyone is a soldier 
first and a man afterwards (very 
much afterwards), the freedom 
granted to our plungers and 
niskers to promenade along Picca- 
dilly or down the shady side of Pall 
Mall in garments eloquent of Poole 
is unknown. The most audacious 
of Moltko's heroes would scarcely 
dare to pass under the nose of his 
superior officer in non-military gar- 
ments. Sooth to say, the travesty is 
not telling. The young man's legs, 
which looked straight in uniform, 
appear stifi* now ; his waist, which 
is accustomed to the belted sword, 
seems wanting in balance and com- 
pression ; his well-squared shoulders 
appear clamouring for the epaulettes ; 



his hand gropes for the sword-hilt ; 
he can scarcely be expected to carry 
an umbrella (that weapon so dear 
to the heart of the Briton), and his 
swagger seems inappropriate shorn 
of sabre and stock. On the whole 
he has veiy much the appearance 
of a petit Spider enddmanche. The 
clothes, being only taken out at 
rare and distant intervals, usually 
belong to a past fashion, and being 
worn surreptitiously, with fre- 
quent glancings round comers lest 
generals should be lying in ambush, 
with three days' Zimmerarrest for 
the youthful irregularity of costume, 
there is a want of ease and dignity 
disastrous to the effect of the young 
man's conquering channs. He was 
veiy handsome in his uniform. Why 
didn't he stay in it ? 

There was amongst my acquaint- 
ances a clever and agreeable person 
who had attained to the slow dig- 
nity of major, and was certainly 
old enough to have known better, 
yet upon every suburban or rustic 
occasion he persisted in getting him- 
self into * civil ' clothes. Tradition 
asserted that he still wore his con- 
firmation waistcoat. We need not 
descend to particulars ; ab uno disce 
omiies. It was his craze that eveiy 
woman who gazed upon him thus 
was fated to love him. * Let them 
languish,' he said superbly, draw- 
ing on a pair of grass-green gloves 
after having wound immeasurable 
yards of checked cotton round his 
neck, as one sees in the sporting 
prints of the early part of the cen- 
tury ; * let them languish.' In the 
garb of his profession he passed 
muster, and did not appear to con- 
sider himself specially fatal to the 
fair sex ; fortunately for us, circum- 
stances did not admit of his show- 
ing himself very frequently in this 
bewitching array. 

This strictness in the matter of 
unifonn has its pleasant side in 
so far as the mere outer aspects of 
society are concerned. It makes 
the streets and parks gay, itrenden 



1875] 



Oerman Home Life. 



203 



the most ordinary ball-room almost 
dazzling, and gives an air of state 
and ceremony to the simplest fes- 
tivities. The colour and the variety 
charm the eyes, and relieve the 
dreary monotony that inevitably 
results from a dismal congregation 
of blackcloth- wearers. 

Official etiquette demands that 
men who are not ' military ' shall 
put themselves into evening clothes 
when they pay a visit of ceremony 
to a ' personage.' A deputation 
going up in the obligatory swallow- 
tail technically termed a FracJc, at 
the hour of noontide, in white kid 
gloves, white ties, and black indis- 
pensabiKties makes a ghastly ap- 
pearance. Yet how much more 
decent and how far less disastrous 
even this than the * dress ' (so- 
called) of English dowagers on 
* Drawing-room ' days ! 

The German gentleman indulges, 
like his womankind, in the morning 
gaberdine, and appears wrapped 
in its voluminous folds, with 
dreadful worsted- worked slippers 
on his feet, until business or 
pleasure shall call him from the 
bosom of his family. But as a 
man is more simply dressed than a 
woman, and cannot wear a night- 
cap, one may, if liberally disposed, 
take it for granted that he is only 
mcomplete as to his outer garments, 
and tiy to accept the Schlo frock 
&fi a lounging coat; indeed, the 
Joppe which Young Germany affects 
for morning wear corresponds to 
the shooting-coat of home life. 

Austrian gentlemen are, as a 
nile, irreproachable in their 'get- 
op,' which will at first suggest to 
yon that they are Englishmen of 
the best type. Their garments are 
confessedly cut rather after the 
British than the Ghllic model, and 
their behaviour, like their apparel, 
'is not too strait or point-device,' 
ttliord Bacon says, 'but free for 
exercise or motion.' To be mis- 
taken for an Englishman used to 
be (perhaps it is so still) rather 



a compliment than otherwise in 
Austrian ears ; the Viennese * swell' 
inclined to afficher his Anglomania, 
and was flattered by his successes 
in that line. There was a time — 
not so very distant — when the 
same amiable weakness prevailed 
in the North. Not in matters of 
dress alone were English ladies and 
gentlemen copied and commended. 
Even the poor, old, despised British 
Constitution used to be held up 
to the admiration of Germany, but, 
alas ! ces heaux jours sont passes ; no 
more red rags are wanted ; we must 
hide our diminished heads .and ' go 
delicately,' if we would avoid at- 
tracting notice or giving offence. 

Of amusements in Germany it may 
be said that the name is legion ; but 
as the division of the sexes, in both 
public and private diversions, is 
almost as strict as in a ritualistic 
church, it might appear to the 
superficial observer that the young 
ladies and gentlemen must amuse 
themselves, as the old chronicler 
says, moult tristement. 

That this is not so I have been 
assured most strenuously by many 
of my German friends, who loudly 
declared that a Kaffee, for instance, 
with men in it would be an affaire 
manquee altogether. To these 
Eleusinian mysteries we will, after 
having first seen what entertain- 
ment outdoor life offers to the 
modest saunterer, presently return. 
No matter how humble the house- 
hold, the domestic pocket seems 
always able to produce sufficient 
coin for the cakes and ale, the beer 
and skittles of the moment. We have 
seen that there is nothing in a Ger- 
man home (the flat being flattest) 
to particularly engage the loving 
care of its inmates. If you have 
swept, you need not be guilty of 
the futile folly of garnishing your 
house also. You have no garden 
to cultivate, no greenhouse to potter 
round, no croquet-lawn to coddle, 
no window-flowers to encourage, no 



204 



German Home Ltfe. 



[AugoBt 



patent mower or beneficent hose to 
experimentalise with ; the names of 
the commonest plants are unknown 
to German ladies, to whom talk of 
lobelias and petunias, calceolarias 
and yerbenasjwould be but babbling. 
As a rale the coffee-gardens of 
Germany are open to all comers. 
The accommodation is of the 
roughest — a few sandy walks, a 
group of trees, some straggling 
bushes, a plot of ragged grass, 
countless little round tables, benches, 
and chairs, a KegeVbahn^ a Bierhaiis, 
and a band. The music supplied 
is generally bearable, sometimes 
excellent, and not unfrequently sana 
reproche. Between the pauses of 
the band you hear the rolHng of the 
ball and the fall of skittles ; waiters 
rush wildly to and fro in answer to 
shouts of *Kellner!* or impatient 
strikings of spoons and knives on 
cups and glasses. Coffee, chocolate, 
sauere Milch, beer, bread, cheese, 
and effervescing drinks are gene- 
rally to be had for a few modest 
pence. To such coffee-gardens 
German families flock during the 
summer afternoons. The Hcynora- 
tloreii do not despise their simple 
attractions. The Adonises of the 
garrison come up and pay their stiff 
military respects to the general's 
daughters; the honest citizen sits 
in the sun and smiles satisfaction on 
the social scene. The charming 
young Frauleins, both of the bour^ 
geoisie and * society,' titter amongst 
themselves as, huddled up together 
like a covey of doves, they ialk of 
their admirers and admire each 
other's clothes, whilst the elder 
women * tatt,* * crotchet,' or knit in 
placid enjoyment of the hour. The 
Herr Papa puffs his cigar, drinks 
his Baierischen Bisr, his Bock, or 
his Mummej and is ready to engage 
in harmless converse with anyone 
willing to talk and let talk. K now 
and again a young man ventures 
amongst the ladies, be is received 
by the unmarried of the party 
with a fluttering timidity and a 



modest downcasting of the eyes 
(sufficiently flattering to the young 
man's vanity) that makes the 
brief dialogue about as trouble- 
some, insipid, and discouraging as 
can well be imagined ; but let the 
enterprising youth beat his retreat, 
the tongue-tied damsels break forth 
into the most unvarnished person- 
alities, allusions, Neckereien^ with 
becks and nods and expressive 
glances that contrast singularly with 
their previously assumed demure 
demeanour. 

It is no mean advantage that one 
enjoys in being able to hear, abso- 
lutely free of expense, any afternoon 
during the summer months, an 
irreproachable stringed or military 
band discoursing sweet music. 
Who that has sat, for instance, on 
the Briihl'sche Terrasse under the 
starlit heavens, and seen the moon 
shining on the rippling Elbe, and 
watched the fourfold reflected lights 
of the double bridges, throwing 
snaky tongues of flame into the 
rapid river, above which rise in 
ghost-like procession the distant 
shrouded mountains, and marked 
the gay groups passing to and firo 
to that admirable band of stringed 
instruments, but retains a grateful 
remembrance of the place and the 
hour? The large beauty of the 
scene, the mystic influence of firma- 
ment, mo'untain, and flood; the 
human interest nearer at hand; 
the historic memories; the dry 
warm night, all bring enjoyments 
that seem harmonised by the strains 
that rise and fall, make the heart 
ache with yearning memories, or 
soothe the soul with sweet unper- 
sonal wonder and content. All 
around people are moving to and 
fro; beautiful Polish women olad 
in deep mourning for the woes of 
their crushed country; artists of all 
nations come to study the treasures 
and wonders of the galleries ; la ng uid 
Englishmen who seem prepared to 
suffer all things ; young coaples on 
their wedding tours; belted i?ar- 



1876] 



Oerman Home Life. 



205 



riors whose spurs ring on the pavo- 
ment, and whose hands are constant 
in saluiie ; Frenchwomen chatter- 
ing gaily, and discussing perhaps 
the old vexed question si un 
AUemand pent avoir de V esprit; 
German belles, somewhat over- 
dressed, but adding by that means 
local colour to the scene ; Jews ft*om 
Posen and Leipzig; students with 
plaids over their shoulders, pro- 
fessors, statesmen ; all drawn abroad 
by the lovely night, by the soft 
wavering music, by the moving, 
living, human stream that passes 
to and fro. You are not greedy of 
speech in that hour; silence suits 
you best. Let Beethoven, and 
Strauss, and Schubert speak; as 
for you, you will hold your peace 
and be thankful. 

Quite different is the impression 
cr^ited by the VolJcsgarten or the 
Neue WeU at Vienna. There nature 
has no part. The booth and the 
orchestra are but elegant cockney- 
isms; the flaring gaslights, the 
overdressed women, many of them 
evidently lionnes of an advanced 
type^ the ostentatious promenading 
to and fro of celebrities dans tons 
Ut genresj may amuse, but it can 
do nothing more for you. There is 
a flare of folly and a flavour of 
vice in the atmosphere that takes 
the sweetness out of the scene. 
T<m will not care to be silent here, 
or to go home softly under the 
duning stars, fearful lest a jarring 
or unsympathetic word brush some- 
tiling, you know not what, of sacred 
from your soul. Such places are, 
I nippose, much like the Yauxhall 
of onr fathers, or the Cremome of 
liter days. But they are excep- 
tional in Germany, where for the 
iQost part a blameless sobriety of 
demeanour makes the public gardens 
of the towns the customary resort 
(^families, fathers and sons, mothers 
and daughters, meeting there in 
friendly intercourse. 

This inborn love of music it 
is thai draws Germans together 



and fills their theatres, their 
concert-rooms, their pubHc gar- 
dens. Every German man and 
woman is bom with the musical 
instinct ; in many it grows to be a 
passion; in the poorest German 
villages you will be certain to find 
an admirable quartett ; the school- 
master, the miller, the sexton, and 
the shoemaker will meet and play 
their Bach or Mendelssohn, Spohr 
or Haydn, with all the diligence 
and love of conscientious musicians. 
Boys and girls sing the touching 
melodies of the mountains and the 
woods, the wild, plaintive Volks^ 
lieder and Weiseii^ with mar- 
vellous precision. One hears the 
goatherd on the mountains, the 
Jdger, and the Sennerinn, all carolling 
at their work, and Jodel answering 
Jodel from height to height. Pious 
pilgrims passing across the lakes 
from shrine to shrine lift up their 
voices in song, and borne across 
the waters in the midst of a vast 
and solemn nature, such simple 
strains fall like gentle messages 
from another world upon the heart. 
The soldier sings as he keels the 
regimental pot and pipe-clays his 
belt and breeches ; the laundress 
sings amongst her suds ; the smith 
chants a jolly stave in praise of the 
hanmier andanvil. In the dusk of the 
evening Chateaubriand speaks, in 
his Memoires d^ Ontre'Tomhe, of see- 
ing young workgirls, basket on arm, 
young workmen carrying the tools 
of their trades, passing into a hall. 
A noted page is given to them, and 
with one consent several hundred 
voices join in marvellous precision, 
sending up a grand chorus to the 
rafters. Each one takes up his 
belongings and goes his sober way, 
leaving the clear-sighted old Dip^ 
lomat to remark that the French 
sent hien loin de ce sentim&iht de 
Vharmoniey moyen puissant de dvi- 
lisatioUj qui a introduit dans la 
chaumiere des pay sans de VAlle^ 
magne une education qui manque a 
nos Jwmmes rusiiques, Partout ov, 



206 



Oerman Some Infe, 



[Angnst 



il y a un piano, il tCy a plus de 
grossierete, (Berlin, 1816.) 

He is probably not mistaken. A 
German may be rough and rude ; 
he may be a bear (as John may 
be a bull) ; bat in him the ele- 
ments of the * tiger and the ape ' 
are entirely absent. The wildest 
German democrat will never lose 
a certain reverence for humanity; 
and no German woman could by 
any possibility develop into the 
hideous tricoteuse of the R«ign of 
Terror, or that yet more ghastly pro- 
duct the petroleuse of the Commune. 
The difference is not one of de- 
gree, but of kiud. The bands of 
young journeymen artisans you 
meet in the summer twilight are 
singing; the girl stands at the 
door, and 'Mein Lieb' ist auf der 
Wanderschaft * floats from her lips ; 
gangs of little children in the warm 
May night, coming through the 
town gates out of the meadows 
beyond, with boxes full of cock- 
chafers, chant in their shrill child- 
ish trebles, * Maikafer, flieg ;' those 
students are about to give a fa- 
vourite professor a Stdndchen ; that 
band of wandering minstrels are 
miners, as by the insignia em- 
broidered on their coat-sleeves you 
may see, going to some great fair 
or Messe in the neighbouring State. 

Amongst the amusements of Ger- 
man life that bore the so-called 
'musical party' is unknown. People 
who love music come together ; 
they play their trios or quartettes ; 
«ing their duos and solos, madri- 
gals and glees ; stop, take this or 
that passage over again; discuss 
the composer's intention; try it 
one way and another, enjoy it, and 
pass on to fresh enjoyments. There 
is no yawning audience bored to 
death in the background, longing 
to talk ; guilty, perhaps, of that 
indiscretion, to the ftiry or despair 
of the performer, and the mute 
misery of the hostess. There is 
no * showing off* and forced ac- 
clamations, no grimace, and no 



vanity in the German evening. 
These lovers of music meet toge- 
ther with the reverence and Bim- 
plicity of primitive Christians read- 
ing the legacies of the evangelists ; 
and having interpreted their be- 
loved masters to the best of their 
abilities, go their quiet way re- 
joicing. Of the absurdity of gather- 
ing a crowd of unmusical people 
together, calling it a ' musical 
party,' and paying a professional 
person to bore the assembly, the 
sincere German mind is, happily, 
incapable. 

After these open-air concerts you 
have the theatre. With ns the 
flare of thefoothghts always smacks 
somewhat of dissipation. To have 
been often to the theatre seems to 
savour of frivolity, perhaps even of 
extravagance. They manage these 
things better in Gfermany, where 
theatre-going enters as much into 
the daily existence of men and 
women as the meals they eat and 
the clothes they wear. The drama 
is regarded seriously ; the stage is 
not looked upon merely as a source 
of amusement ; it is treated as a 
potent means of education, moral as 
well as intellectual. Princes of the 
smaller States are princely in their 
support of the drama : the Ministry 
for Public Instruction votes ite 
yearly sum, and the Grand Duke 
adds his munificent contribution; 
as Goethe says, German culture 
owes more to the liberality and 
generous encouragement of the 
little, despised, so-called 'tin-pot' 
State Governments than she is 
ever likely to owe to the more 
distant Imperial sympathies of a 
united Fatherland. Had Dresdexii 
Weimar, Hanover, Stuttgardt, and 
Brunswick been only provincial 
towns, surely results would haye 
been far different from what they 
are. 

According to the terms of your 
(ibonnement you wiU be able to go 
more or less frequently to tibie 
theatre. Generally a lady will 



1875] 



German Home Life. 



207 



arrange to liave her fauteuU on the 
same night with, and in the imme- 
diate vicinity of, friends. Men are 
not allowed in the dress circle, nor 
women in the stalls, which are de- 
Toted to the ubiquitous military. 
Officers obtain their (ibonnement 
under specially favourable condi- 
tions, and are free to come and go 
without worry from box-keepers or 
seat-guardians. It is the correct thing 
for them to put in an appearance 
for an hour or so during the evening. 
If his Koyal Highness be there he 
is better pleased to see the parterre 
of his pleasure-house filled with gay 
uniforms. Should the play weary 
or the ballet bore him, he can look 
down witife, pride on his gaUant 
little army, and think what fine 
fellows it is composed of. Next to 
the royal box is the Fremdenloge, 
generally occupied by distinguished 
strangers passing through the town. 
The names and titles of its occupants 
will be duly chronicled in to-mor- 
row's Anzeige, You are at liberty 
to sell your ticket of ahonneTnent 
should other engagements prevent 
your availing yourself of it. The 
tgent will charge you a small com- 
mission for conducting the trans- 
action. A lady goes to the theatre 
^th her maid or a friend, and with- 
out any impropriety returns after 
tlie same simple fashion. The per- 
formances will begin at 6.30 or 7 
^ latest, and she will be at home 
again by 9 or sooner. In the theatre, 
as in the coffee-garden, strict division 
of the sexes . In larger towns, where 
the passing through of many 
travellera imJces the local laws less 
stringent, it is not unusual to see 
nien and women sitting together, 
hat they are almost invariably 
strangers and pilgrims. Birds of pas- 
sage enjoy a freedom in such particu- 
lars that the Einhevmischen cannot 
boast ; and it is all these easy privi- 
leges, these rational, inexpensive, 
and early amusements, that make 
^zetidence inOermanyso charming 
to English people whose intelligence 



is perhaps in advance of their means; 
who are ready to forego the parade 
of life, if they may only taste some 
of its reasonables pleasures ; to whom 
menservants and maidservants and 
rent and taxes at home are ruinous 
items ; and who are willing to take 
out in culture what they sacrifice in 
comfort. 

I wish that space allowed me 
to speak more at length of Ger- 
man actors and actresses. Of the 
former many are men of deep and 
sound knowledge, who love their 
profession, honour and are an 
honour to it. Actresses are not 
unfrequently women of recognised 
character and worth. It is no un- 
common thing for a favourite actress 
to remain twenty , thirty, or forty years 
faithful to one stage. * Our Frau 
MUller,' * our good Miillerinn,' and 
similar tenns of affectionate pro- 
prietorship sound pleasant in our 
ears when applied to these feiithful, 
patient friends of the public. It is 
almost a matter of course, on 
going into a shop where you are well 
known the day after any important 
piece has been played, that the 
shopkeeper will ask, *Well, what 
did the gnddige Frau think of the 
Gretchen or the Clarchen of our good 
Meyer last night ? * And * the smooth- 
faced, snub-nosed rogue* will soon 
let you know (without any pertness 
or undue familiarity, be it observed) 
that whosoever ehe may be igno- 
rant, he knows his Faust, and his 
Egmont, and his Minna von Barn- 
helm down to the ground. Actresses 
of good character are invited to the 
better-class bourgeois tables, where 
they are honoured guests ; they mix 
freely with the unmarried daughters 
of the family, and are as sober 
in their attire and demeanour as 
the tamest of the respectabilities 
they frequent. 

After the theatre the ball. The 
country that invented the waltz 
understands the ball to perfection, 
No crushing and crowding into 
small carpeted rooms, inadequately 



208 



Oermwn Home Life. 



[Angnst 



ftrpniahed with waxed dancing- 
druggets; no trampling and tear- 
ing, no buffeting and ricocheting, 
no sitting on stairs or standing at 
drawing-room doors with your train 
on the next landing-place. Firstly, 
no one gives a ball in Germany un- 
less he have a ball-room to offer 
his guests. Nevertheless, a vast 
amount of picnic balls, subscrip- 
tion balls, and officers' balls are 
given at very moderate expense, and 
to the unlimited satisfaction of every- 
one concerned! A picnic ball is 
managed as follows : Some happy 
householder has a ball-room, but 
does not feel justified in going to the 
expense of a large entertainment. 
He is asked to lend his room. One 
or other of the bachelors of society 
draws out a list of families to be 
invited; it is sent round, and, if you 
accept, the stewards forward you in 
a day or two a ticket, with a list 
of the things you are to contri- 
bute ; as, for instance, * two fowls, 
three pounds of coffee, an Eistorte, 
and a Sandkuchen,^ These you 
send in on the appointed day ; the 
host probably contributes the lights, 
and perhaps the music ; or, if the 
ball be given in an hotel, the land- 
lord suppUes lights and service for 
a moderate amount; the sum is 
divided amongst the subscribers, and 
the result is a maximum of pleasure 
at a minimum of expense. 

At all balls, whether Court, pri- 
vate, or subscription, the office of 
conducting the dances is entrusted 
to a Voridnzer, He will generally 
be chosen from amongst the most 
accomplished and agreeable of his 
set; *ein flotter Kerl,' as the old 
fellows will call hira, with a chuck- 
ling admiration, half pride, half envy. 
He will arrange the sequences of 
the dances, give the band the signal 
to commence and that to leave off. 
He leads the dances, calling out 
* Two turns round the room, six 
couples to follow.' By these means 
perfect order is preserved ; ladies do 
not get overheated; there is no de- 



struction of the * properties,* and 
your dress will be as immaculate at 
the end of the evening as when you 
entered the room. The non-dancing 
guests stand round, in an outer 
circle, looking at the gyrations of 
the younger folk, and division after 
division of dancers, the number 
regulated by the size of the room, 
follows in turn the lead of the Vor- 
tdnzeTj until everyone has had the 
pleasure of flying in unimpeded pro- 
gress quite as often as is good for 
him over the polished parquet. The 
dance over, instantaneous division 
of the sexes ; the young man wheels 
right about face, clicks his heels 
together, drops his head so that his 
bump of self-esteem may be in- 
spected without difficulty, and im- 
mediately withdraws. The cotillon, 
only struggling into popularity here, 
is the crowning point of the even- 
ing's pleasure, and invariably finishes 
the ball. It is the Gefuhlatanz, 
You not only spend a long (and it 
is presumed agreeable) tune with 
the partner of your choice, but yon 
are sought out for extra tours^ and 
in your turn have to seek, after a 
fashion that causes much amuse- 
ment and many surmises as to the 
elective affinities of the hemispheres 
wandering in space. 

Picnics are a favourite diversion 
in Germany. They are not what 
we understend by the term. The 
young ladies are in their best bibs 
and tuckers, the young men feel- 
ing fish-out-of-waterish in plain 
clothes, the old people toiling and 
panting after the young ones ; 
everyone rather affected, rather 
afraid it will rain, rather sorry 
their shoes are so tight. A little 
niggling demure wa£k through a 
weedy wood; much genteel gig- 
gling, exclamations of terror at 
rustic horrors, gnats, and a general 
sense of having your best clothes 
on, with salad and pancakes in a 
tumble-down inn garden, form the 
rural delights of the day. Division 
of the sexes is apparently not quite 



1875] 



Oerman Home Life, 



209 



80 strict as usual, but none of the 
lambs are allowed to stray ; the flock 
is kept well together, a vigilant old 
sheepdog or two always on the look- 
out. 

There is no space to describe the 
sleighing parties, with their hardly- 
to-be-hinted -at privilege of a kiss 
from the lady of your choice, and 
we must pass on to the best-beloved 
and best-abused of all German 
amusements, the Kaffee-GesellschafL 
Strictest division of the sexes. Mys- 
tery, hated of men, adored by wo- 
men. The Kaffee is an afternoon 
entertainment, generally commenc- 
ing about four o'clock. Strong 
coffee, chocolate flavoured with 
vanilla and beaten up with eggs 
and cream ; every imaginable kind 
of Gebdck (i.e. cakes of a richness 
to make itself remembered), Satid- 
torte^ and finally Bistort e, are the 
luxuries upon which you may regale 
yourself. Yet stUl others are pro- 
vided. It is a perfect orgie of 
scandal. At every word a reputa- 
tion dies. A flutter of animation 
runs through the company as the 
best-informed lady produces bit by 
bit her sensational details. Ahs, 
and ohs, and head-waggings, and 
shoulder-shruggings relieve the feel- 
ings of the fair censors ; while they 
* murder characters to kill time.' 
To sit in circles and slander; to 
snatch scandal from your servants, 
and listen to the libels of your 
Friseurinn ; to collect calumnies and 
grasp greedily at mean gossip; to 
whisper, to insinuate, to malign, to 
backbite, to bear false witness, and 
to revel in envies and jealousies and 
all uncharitableness, seem too often 
to be the chartered privileges of the 
votaresses who celebrate these rites. 
Had men been present, for very 



shame the chattering tongues must 
have spared many a reputation now 
torn to tatters ; but men abominate 
the very name of a Kaffee^dJi^ do not 
hesitate to declare roundly that they 
consider a Kaffee- Gesellschaft an 
* immoral institution . ' Many gentle 
ladies have deplored to me the low, 
personal bone and the vulgar gossip 
they have to endure in these (so- 
called) * ladies' parties,' and heartily 
deprecated the institution from 
which they had not the courage to 
entirely detach theniselves. 

Only an elderly lady, agrandedame 
de par le monde^ whose age places 
her beyond scandal, and whose rank 
elevates her above criticism, can 
venture to invite men to a Kaffee^ 
Gesellschaft. Of such pleasant 
afternoons I retain a lively remem- 
brance. Our hostess, an ex- Austrian 
ambassadress, received us with her 
secretary and dame de compagnie in 
attendance. Pretty young women 
with their husbands, old devoted 
friends, gallant generals en retraite, 
diplomates of the snuff-box and gold- 
button period, a stately dowager or 
two, a pleasant, comely old maid or 
so, any young officer or civilian who 
had claims to distinction, made up 
our dear old friend's * afternoons.' 
People felt honoured by her invita- 
tion ; and with all the decent order, 
and even modest state, of her entour^ 
age she was so lively, so simple, so 
utterly herself, that these little 
gatherings, merry and unrestraine'Si 
as they were, seemed to recall the 
time when the true grand ton was 
struck in the tone of simplicity, and 
to tell us something of the charm, 
the gentle wit, and the graceful 
courtesies of a day long since gone 
by. If only every Kaffce^GeseXU 
schaft were like this ! 




VOL. Xn. — NO. LXVIII. KBW SERIES. 



210 



[August 



WHAT WAS PRIMITIVE CHRISTIANITY? 
By Francis William Neytman. 



IT is easy to lay hands on half-a- 
dozen tracts which essay to 
answer the question, What is Chris- 
tianity ? One, also, of last year de- 
clares the question to be unanswer- 
able. But, when certain persons 
of note entitle themselves Old Catho- 
lics, in contrast to the novelty of 
Papal InfaUibility, this may remind 
us that Protestantism itself arose as 
an effort to go back to the early 
Church ; yet when presently among 
Protestants some endeavoured to re- 
turn to the earliest doctrine, forth- 
with they were treated as heretics 
by the very men who were claiming 
their own freedom of judgment. 
Thus Calvin burned Servetus, when 
ServetuB was but studying the same 
problem as Calvin — ^that of re- 
covering the * primitive ' £ftith. To 
ask. What is Christianity ? — the re- 
ligion being, avowedly, historical 
and transmitted — apparently ought 
to mean asking what it wa^ at first. 
If the reply were wholly obscure, 
no pretension of authority would be 
tenable. By the hypothesis itself, 
the religion came pure out of the 
fountain : hence the first effort must 
be, to learn what was its primitive 
state. Unless our trusted docu- 
ments are deplorably deficient, the 
problem, being historical, must be 
soluble to moderate learning, if there 
be no bias in the enquirer. That 
the documents, called the New Tes- 
tament, are both trustworthy and 
adequate, is an axiom with all the 
Protestant Churches. 

It does not belong to the present 
writer to affect novelty or to claim 
discovery ; for the research has, in 
all principal points, been made long 
since by competent and thorougniy 
honest talent. Yet, strange as it 
may seem, very few whose minds 
move in the Anglican or in the 
Evangelical Nonconformist circles 
have heard the argument at all; 



namely, because all the books which 
contain it have been sealed against 
them — have been vilified and 
frowned down as heretical. Nay, 
until 1 813 it was actually a penal 
offence to deny the Trinity. Though 
every man of moderate erudition 
knows that the creed called Atha- 
nasian is much later in time than 
Athanasius, and different in doc- 
trine ; moreover, arose in the Latin, 
not in the Greek Church ; yet the 
clergy in Convocation sedulously 
sustain this creed, of which Arch- 
bishop Tillotson said the Church 
would be well rid. The clerical 
zeal for so extreme, so bigoted, and 
so late a development is, of course, 
highly influential in deterring the 
pious laity from reading any Uni- 
tarian treatises, however wise and 
learned. On the other hand, the 
modem assailants of Christianity 
generally add their force to nah 
down upon it whatever they reg^ard 
as most offensive to reason and to 
sound morals. Some will have it 
that Romanism alone is perfect 
Christianity. One tract in my 
hands, by an energetic lady, lays 
down that the very essence of the 
religion is atonement for sin by the 
shedding of a prophet's blood, or the 
blood of one greater than a prophet; 
and that without this the religion 
never had reason to exist: thereupon 
she confutes and tramples down 
this doctrine with great force of 
reasoning, believing that she hereby 
annihilates the religion fundamen- 
tally. Such attacks confirm num- 
bers in the belief that this was in- 
deed the primitive faith. 

On the present occasion it is not 
intended to defend, nor yet to attack 
Christianity : a purely historical ex- 
position is aimed at. All ought to 
be able, with the New Testement 
in their hands, to appreciate the 
argument, and assign to it the due 



1875] 



What was Primitive Christianity ? 



211 



weight — if only they are calm and de- 
sirous of historical truth. Those dis- 
putants who plunge into an indefinite 
number of Greek and Latin works, 
called ' Fathers/ of course get into 
depths where the unlearned laity 
cannot follow. But the earliest of 
the * Fathers ' is confessedly later 
than the New Testament ; perhaps 
indeed most of the learned clergy 
will insist, later than the latest 
book. Hence it is needless and just 
now useless to appeal to any volume 
but that of which Chillingworth 
said, *The Bible, and the Bible only' 
(meaning, we suppose, the '^&w 
Testament), * is the religion of Pro- 
testants.' The sixth article of the 
Anglican Church virtually assents 
to this in forbidding the imposition 
of tenets which cannot be proved 
from Holy Scripture. 

That volume contains five books 
which profess to be historical, viz. 
four Grospels and the Acts of the 
Apostles. Important historical mat- 
ter is contained also in the Epistles 
of Paul, of which all that bear his 
name are by most of us esteemed 
genuine. Indeed, some learned Ger- 
mans throw doubt on all but four 
epistles; but these four are just 
those which supply cardinal facts. 
The Epistle of James is equally im- 
portant. That Paul came suddenly 
m as a new teacher, and was re- 
garded with the utmost jealousy by 
the Jerusalem Church, is distinctly 
shown in Acts xxi. 21 ; in fact, 
Paul himself, in his Epistle to the 
Gralatians, states his contrast of doc- 
trine far more vividly. He narrates 
his vehement attack on Peter, face 
to &ce, and the great hostility of 
the Jerusalem Christians to himself. 
Indeed, their molestation of his 
converts even carried him into the 
wish *that they were cut off' — 
whether that is to mean removed 
from this world by a Divine judg- 
ment, or excommunicated. The 
two Epistles to the Corinthians, 
from end to end, allude to the vio- 
lent opposition made to him by 



Christians from Jerusalem — * false 
apostles, transforming themselves 
into apostles of Christ.* To the Grala- 
tians he describes them as ' certain 
who came from James,' and there 
takes occasion to speak slightingly 
of the three chief apostles, James, 
Peter, and John. Such being the 
early relation of Paul to the actual 
disciples of Jesus and primary 
leaders of the Church, it is against 
all good sense to confuse his doc- 
trine with theirs, and call the mixed 
mass the * primitive ' doctrine. It 
is evident that there was a Chris- 
tianity earher than Paul's ; and we 
ought to try to find what it was. 
Indeed, Paul claims independence 
for his gospel, and entitles it his 
own ; and by reiterating a deliberate 
curse (Galat. i. 8, 9) on those who 
preach another gospel (by whom he 
confessedly means Christians fix)m 
Jerusalem) he sets forth that in 
his mind the two doctrines were 
fundamentally different. If the con- 
verts adopt the gospel taught them 
from Jerusalem, Jesus Christ (he 
says) shall profit them nothing. 

If now, laying aside all prepos- 
sessions, we read the Acts of the 
Apostles, we presently find clearly 
enough, if not the primitive gospel, 
yet certainly a doctrine earlier 
than Paul's. Readers will probably 
allow one to take for granted that 
Paul preached a superhuman Mes- 
siah. Indeed, the older school of 
Unitarians were unwilling to admit 
this, and strained hard to get rid 
of it ; but in this matter the Trini- 
tarian school certainly have the 
advantage over them. Not that 
they can establish the ecclesiastical 
Trinity frx)m his writings ; but they 
victoriously prove that he placed 
Christ on a pinnacle far above the 
human, and believed His pre-exist- 
ence. To the Corinthians he says : 
* Though the heathen have gods 
many and lords many, yet unto us 
there is but one God — the Father, 
of whom are all things; and one 
Lord — Jesus Christ, by whom are 

Q 2 



212 



What was TrimiUve Ghristtanity ? 



[August 



all things.' This is the keynote of 
the first transcendental doctrine con- 
cerning the person of Christ ; * hy 
Him the Father created the worlds;* 
which of course implies Christ's 
pre-existence. He was *the first- 
bom of all creation.' Paul in- 
vokes Him and prays to Him, and 
makes Him virtually a second Divine 
Spirit, even while reserving for the 
Father exclusively the title of the 
One God — * the Blessed and only 
Potentate, whom no man hath seen, 
nor can see.' 

In contrast to Paul's tenet of a 
superhuman Jesus, whose death and 
resurrection set men free from the 
works of the law, let us gather up 
the doctrines advanced as Chris- 
tianity in the Acts of the Apostles. 
To be accurate, it is safest to pro- 
ceed from chapter to chapter. 

Ch. I. opens by announcing the 
bodily and visible ascension of Jesus 
to heaven, and the prophecy by two 
angels that He shall come back in 
like manyisr. It also implies that 
Jesus will * restore the kingdom to 
Israel' at a time not yet distinctly 
revealed. Ch. II. declares from 
the prophet Joel that a great and 
notable day of the Lord is to come, 
with vast physical convulsion ; but 
before it comes, God is to pour out 
His Spirit on all flesh. That out- 
pouring (it says) is commenced; 
and whoever shall call on the name 
of the Lord shall be saved [in that 
day]. Jesus is now exalted by God, 
and is made both Lord and Christ. 
Let them therefore repent and be 
baptised in the name of Jesus the 
Christ, and they shall receive the 
gift of the Holy Spirit. Peter there- 
fore exhorts each * to save himself 
from this untoward generation.' 
Ch. III. entitles Jesus * the Prince 
of Life,* murdered by the Jews, but 
raised from the dead by God. Peter 
insists that this calamitous event 
was a fulfilment of the prophecy 
that Messiah must suffer. He ex- 
horts them to repent, that their sins 
may be blotted out when the time of 



refreshing shall come from the face 
of the Lord [God], who will send 
Jesus Christ, whom the heaven 
must keep until the time of restitu- 
tion. The hearers (says he) are 
the children of the prophets : to 
them therefore first Grod sent His 
servant (iraT^a) Jesus, to bless them 
by turning them away from their 
iniquities. [Nothing about bloody 
sacrifice and atonement.] Ch. IV. 
represents the Apostles as * preach- 
ing through Jesus the resurrection 
from the dead,' and avowing that 
there is no salvation except thrcnigh 
Him. Ch. V. declares that God 
hath exalted Jesus to be a Prince 
and a Saviour^ to give repent- 
ance to Israel and forgiveness of 
sins. [Again no hint of bloody 
atonement or sacrifice.] In spite 
of the rulers, the Apostles * spread 
the glad tidings that Jesus is the 
Messiah.' Ch. YI. makes false wit- 
nesses impute to Stephen the deacon 
the blasphemy of saying that Jesus 
will overthrow Mosaism. Ch. VH. 
represents Stephen as preaching 
(we are to suppose) the Gospel. 
But he does nothing but recite 
Jewish history, and bitterly accuse 
his hearers as treading in the mur- 
derous steps of their forefathers. 
No word of Christianity is put into 
his mouth, unless the last be such, 
in which he sees the Son of Man on 
the right hand of God. The writer 
evidently understands him to mean 
Jesus, and supposes the multitude so 
to have understood him. Ch. VIII. 
makes Philip the deacon baptise a 
man, on the confession, * I believe 
that Jesus Christ is the Son of 
God.* [So stands our version; but 
the whole verse is absent in the 
Sinaitic Codex of Tischendorf.] 
Ch. IX. teUs us that Paul, when 
converted, preached that Christ was 
the Son of God. In Ch. X. Peter 
announces to Cornelius that in 
every nation God accepts pious 
hearts and righteous deeds; that 
Jesus was anointed by God with 
the Holy Spirit and power, and u 



1875] 



What was Primitive Christianity ? 



213 



Lord of all. He is ordained of God 
to be Judge of living and dead. 
Through the name of Jesus [not by 
his blood'] every believer will receive 
remission of sins. Ch. XI. and 
XII. have no doctrine in them. So 
ends the former part of the Acts. 
The rest is concerned with Paul, 
and nearly drops Peter and the 
Jerusalem Apostles. It begins from 
Antioch as the new centre. 

Ch. XUI. represents Paul preach- 
ing. He declares that God raised 
from the dead Jesus, of the seed of 
David, and made Him a Saviour to 
Israel: therefore through Him is 
preached unto them forgiveness of 
sins. In Ch. XIV. no definite doc- 
trine is named. In Ch. XV. the 
controversy about Mosaism opens. 
Ch. XV I. is mere narrative. In 
Ch. XVn. Paul avows that Messiah 
needed to suffer and rise, and Jesus 
was this Messiah. Further, he 
preaches at Athens good sound 
theism, adding that God has raised 
a man from the dead to give to us 
assurance of resurrection, and has 
appointed a day in which that man 
will judge the world in righteous- 
ness. (3i. XIX. tells nothing of 
doctrine. Ch. XX. contains a much 
contested text, in which Paul is 
made to say to the elders of Ephesus, 
* the Church of Ood, which He has 
purchased with His own blood.' 
Paul does not speak in such phra- 
seology elsewhere, nor does any 
preacher in this book of Acts. It 
would seem, therefore, that the 
Unitarians must be right, who in- 
sist that the true reading is * the 
Church of the Lord,* It is more to 
the purpose here to remark that 
from the mouth of Paul the state- 
ment * Christ purchased (t£o«- 
^'^(n^earo, acquired) HLs Church by 
His own Mood* is fitly interpreted, 
'Christ earned^ ovicov, the Church 
to be His own by suffering death ;' 
which was a condition of Messiah- 
riiip with Paul. The rest of the 
book hardly adds to our knowledge 
of Piiiil's doctrines. When asked 



by Felix to preach to him, he rea- 
soned * of righteousness, temperance, 
and j udgment to come. ' To Agrippa 
he declares that the celestial Jesus 
sent him to the Gentiles, to turn 
them from darkness to light, and 
from the power of Satan unto Gt)d, 
that they might receive forgiveness 
of sins and inheritance among them 
that are sanctified by fSaith in Jesus ; 
* therefore,' says Paul, * I preach that 
men should repent and turn to God, 
and do works meet for repentance.* 
On this recital what are we to 
say ? Did Paul, in addressing the 
unconverted, propound to them 
only first elements of faith, reserv- 
ing his harder doctrines for more 
advanced disciples? or did these 
doctrines exclusively aim to argue 
down the Mosaic ceremonial? or 
have we here (as some tell us) a 
fraudulent attempt by the compter 
of the Acts to pare down Paul's 
doctrine into harmony with Peter 
and James? Whichever way this 
controversy may be decided, the 
fact must remain that the faith by 
which men were to be saved, 
according to the documents of this 
compiler, was not faith in bloody 
atonement, nor in a Trinity, nor in , 
an incarnate God, nor in a pre- 
existing supernatural man; but 
only in a holy man, elevated and 
glorified by God. Indeed, Acts xiii. 
39 attributes to Paul, when he 
preaches in the synagogue, the 
characteristically Pauline sentiment, 
*By Jesus all that believe are 
justified from all things from which 
ye could not be justified hy the law 
of Moses,* This gives the key to 
his harsh metaphors or enigmas. 
In his Epistle to the Galatians, who- 
had been seduced by Jerusalem. 
Christians to believe that Mosaisn^ 
was essential to salvation, Paul 
urges vehemently that the death of 
Christ has removed the curse of 
the Mosaic law. So to the Ephesians 
he insists that Gentiles, once far 
off, are brought nigh and united to 
Jews by the blood (i.e. death) of 



214 



W^haf was Primitive Christianttj/ ? 



[A, 



Ohrist, who in His flesh abolished 
the enmity, even the law of com- 
mandments contained in ordinances. 
This union of Jew and Gentile is 
the great 'mystery/ says he, now 
first revealed. It would seem that 
in this way alone he supposed the 
blood or death of Christ to save 
and reconcile the Gentiles. Indeed, 
as for the Jews, it delivered them 
also from the ceremonial law and 
its curse. His Epistle to the 
Romans was written to a Church 
consisting mainly of converted 
Jews. All its topics are directed 
to Hebrews bom. Undoubtedly it 
is hard to discern when his phrases 
are merely harsh figure and strained 
analogy, and when they convey as 
plain prose his deliberate and per- 
manent doctrine. When he tells 
the Corinthians that the ancient 
Hebrews were baptised to Moses 
in the E/cd Sea; that a spiritual 
Bock followed (!) them, of which 
they drank, and that Bock was 
Christ; when he gravely informs 
the Galatians that Abraham's con- 
cubine Hagar means Mount Sinai, 
and Mount Sinai means Jerusalem 
which is in bondage ; we are warned 
how hasty he was, how fanciful, 
how extravagant, in the midst of 
his noble sentiments. When to 
the Corinthiana he says, * Christ 
our Passover is sacrificed (irvdrj) 
for us,' eagerness to snatch at a 
metaphor makes him overlook that 
the Paschal Lamb was only a food, 
not a sacrificial victim. After-ages, 
ruminating on every word of his as 
a Divine revelation, converted his 
casual errors into germs of pesti- 
lence, and adopted him as an in- 
spired master of bad reasoning. Un- 
happily he gave much occasion for 
mistake, so as to scandalise James 
and elicit a grave warning from the 
author of what is called Peter's 
Second Epistle. Moreover, his 
doctrine concerning the eflficacy of 
Christ's death was pushed further 
by another theorist of his school, 
a splendid rhetorician. According 



to Luther's happy conjecture 
was Apollos, a Jew of Alexar 
who, in the Epistle to the Heb 
seems to have invented the 
that Christ was at once High . 
and Victim ; and by a prepost 
and almost unpardonable coni 
from the double meaning o 
Greek word haOtjicri (covenan 
testament) has involved the 
ment in an inextricable ti 
Still, however fanciful and ill< 
Paul and Apollos may have 
neither of them confounds v-f j 
behalf of) with arrl (insteai 
grand blunder into which En 
men fall, simply because the Ei 
preposition for bears cither i 
Those who maintain that Pau 
Apollos teach a subs titu tic 
Christ for the sinner, and tha 
sufiering was vicarious, lia^ 
convert * Christ gave Himse 
our sins ' into * gave Himself in 
of our sins.' This being al 
tbey are clearly wrong in 
translations also when sinnt 
put for si7is. There are pas 
in Paul which perhaps cann 
cleared up, as Bom. iii. 25, ob 
through the vague word It 
where he has the word propit 
(Dr. Lant Carpenter tiunsla 
mercy-seat), also Ephes. v. 2, ^ 
he wonderftiUy calls Christ's 

* an ofiering and a sacrifice tc 
for a sweet-smelling savour,' 
ing perhaps to Noah's sacrifice, 
viii. 21, but painfully remindi 
of the smell of burning ft 
acceptable to the nostrils of He 
gods. So hot a genius mm 
be criticised to the letter c 
words, as if they were a 
deliberate. 

In his Epistle to the Galatii 
defines his doctrine to be that < 
gave Himself /or our sins, to d 
us from the present evil worlc 
idea comes in, unless in Bom. 
satisfying the justice of God 
sacrifice, nor of anything vica 

* He died and rose again for m 
He did neither ^instead ofiis.^ 



Wlu'l u 



i Primitive Chnntianily ? 



S credible tbat John in the 
Apocal^vps6 meant anything bat 
tniietificalwn wbero he speaka of 
washing op being washed in the 
blood of Jesus. In the EpisUe to 
the Hebrews sanctification and 
purging of the conscience from dead 
works is distinctly defined as the 
eflect. To ns blood gives an idea 
of defilement ; but a Hebrew re- 
garded sacred blood sprinkled on a 
doorpost as making it pure. Mosea 
thaa sprinkled tbe people, in order 
fo include them in tlm covenant : for 
the Hebrews, like Greeks and 
Bomans, made covenants by means 
of a sacrifice. Hebrew law had no 
ceremonial atonement for moral 
ofiences, such as tbe ft, murder, 
idolatry, Sabbath -breaking, blas- 
phemy, adultery : only for cere- 
monial offences and defilements. 
So long as Hebrew culture was 
li-v-ing and active iu the Church, 
strong sacrificial metaphors migbt 
be rightly understood ; as also 
by the moi-e Iciimed and discrimi- 
nating of the Gentile converts. 
But coarse and prosaic minds, un- 
trained in intei'pretation, veriSed 
Paul's words, ' The letter killeth ;' 
and turned his noble epistlea into 
a source of base superstition. Snch 
is a tenable opinion ; but let this 
pass. Suppose Paul to have been 
really what Augustine, Anselm, 
and Luther make him, : it will not 
the less be historic&l Eact that such 
was nut the Church of Jerusalem, 
nor ita first bishop James ; and who 
has so good a right as James to 
set forth the true doctrine of Jesus? 
If Paul differed from James, no 
modern wbo calls himself a ChHs- 
tian baa any plausible right to 
assert tbat Paul was right und 
James wrong ; that Paul, the inno- 
Fator and stranger and self-usserter, 
ought to bo allowed to ovorruh- 
James, tbe legitimate disoiple and 
real personal witness who succeeded 
to bis high place by the assent ami 
iwnaent of the original Church. Are 
any modern Cbristiaus so absurd as 



to say, ' I believe Paul rather {tias 
James, because I find James to be 
more rational and sober, and less 
enigmatic ; because Paul utters an 
anatbema on all who come from 
James and do not preach Paul's 
gospel, while Jamea sternly for- 
bids all cursing among Christian 
teachers ; in sbort, because Panl is 
hot and violent, while James is 
self-restrained and judicially calm ' ? 
So one confesses this to himself; 
yet this is probably the tnith. 
Modern Christians have been, in- 
toxicated by tbe medifflval Circeftu 
potion, a cup of hashish or abiinthe ; 
hence they tbink the doctrine of 
James meagre in the extreme. He 
seems to them not much more than 
a Jew, He does but add an exalted 
Man to his Judaism. Though hewaa 
the earliest bishop, and after Jesus 
the first head of tbe Church, he gives 
himself no airs of dogmatism, ho 
does not claim authority over men's 
faith, be unafi'cctedly and, so to 
say, naturally follows the exhorta- 
tion of Peter not to make himself 
lord over God's heritage. He is 
not more aeiilous for right conduct 
than Paul ; for no one could be : 
but be is wholly guiltless of mis- 
taking fanciful aTialogies for valu- 
able and sacred truth, and of 
imposing bis own opinion as a law 
to his brethren. Can anyone call 
himself a Protestant, and not see 
that alike tbe temperament, the 
position, and the doctrine of James 
deserve from us a higher deference 
than that of Paul ? Who testified 
to tbe apoatleship, to tbe inspira- 
tion, to the authority of Paul P 
He himself, and he only. He boasts 
to tbe Galatians of bis Htonding up 
against Peter, of his little esteem 
for the great pillars of the Churob, 
James, John, and Peter; saying 
that 'whattliey are concerns him 
not,' and that be had purposely 
kept aloof from them after bis 
conversion : in other words, be did 
not care to know anything con- 
cerning tbe precepts of Jesns, 



216 



What was Primitive Christianity ? 



[Augusi 



which they alone could tell ; they, 
his specially chosen witnesses. 

Will it be said that Paul had by 
miraculous revelation a private 
knowledge of these precepts? As 
if a special revelation could have 
been made for his sole benefit ! 
Of course his first duty then would 
have been to write them out for us, 
and guarantee them as given to him 
by Divine revelation. But in his 
own Epistles he never shows any 
real knowledge of either the deeds 
or the words of Jesus ; and in the 
Acts of the Apostles the words 
which he is represented to quote 
as those of Jesus (xx. 35) are not 
reported to us in the Gospels, 
though they deserved it for their 
beauty and truth. As a hot and 
vehement temperament, whose en- 
thusiasm obscured his reason yet 
nobly elevated his moral aspira- 
tions, we may earnestly admire 
Paul : but it is not clear with what 
ostensible right any Christian who 
tries to rest his faith on a sound 
basis can account Paul so authentic 
a teacher of Christianity as James. 
The doctrine of James, to every 
mind competent to weigh a his- 
torical argument, must be accepted 
as primitive Christianity rather 
than Paul's. 

No doubt it will be said, * Peter's 
First Epistle is virtually Pauline.' 
It is so, and is therefore rejected by 
many learned Germans as not 
genuine. We may not think this an 
adequate reason for rejection ; but 
if it be genuine, it merely proves 
that (probably after much vacilla- 
tion and vain endeavours to please 
tne two irreconcilable parties of 
the Church) Peter finally left the 
Judaical for the Pauline doctrine. 
The difference of glorying perpetu- 
ally in the death of Christ, as Paul 
did, and of saying as little as possible 
on the subject, as it would seem 
James must have done, was cer- 
tainly very great. James so speaks 
of * the Lord,' that it is most un- 
certain whether he meant the Lord 



God or the Lord Christ (the word 
Lord being the same as sir, and 
applied by Mary — John xx. 1 5 — to 

* a gardener ') ; otherw^e James is 
reserved in his allusions to Jesus : 
but Paul sees all morality and all 
life, as it were, through Jesus as the 
medium. He is suffused and in- 
terfused (some will say intoxicated) 
with Christ; that is, not with 

* Christ after the flesh,' not with the 
historical Jesus of modern Unita- 
rians, about whom he declined to 
make enquiries, but with the risen, 
ascended, glorified Jesus, whom he 
had enshrined in his free-acting 
imagination and encircled with a 
Divine halo. * With me,' says he, 

* to live is Christ. I am crucified 
with Christ. I am buried with 
Christ. I have died and risen again 
with Christ. I glory in the cross 
of Christ,' and so on. There is 
nothing similar to this in James's 
Epistle. James does not even 
allude at all to the death or re- 
surrection of Jesus ; he has not a 
sentiment which suggests com- 
munion of heart with Christ, as 
with one who is virtuaUy omni- 
present, and can hear him or under- 
stand his secret thoughts. Not 
a word is dropped which indicates 
that he believed Jesus to be any- 
thing but the greatest of prophets, 
who was to return to judge and 
govern the world as Messiah, the 
Lord of men ; a glorious Lord, yet 
still a man. And with this the 
entire book called the Acts of the 
Apostles is in general full agree- 
ment ; in which style indeed it 
makes Paul himself preach to the 
Athenians. 

Considering that James is entitled 
by Paul * the Lord's brother ' (per- 
haps meaning that he was first 
cousin to Jesus), — that he was no- 
toriously one of the original Apo- 
stles, — that in the Acts of the 
Apostles he appears as president of 
the first Christian council which 
met to deliberate on disputed 
doctrine, — that he there and then 



1875] 



WJiat was Primitive Ohristianity ? 



217 






dictates the compromise, which was 
intended to settle the dispute, — 
and that ' the Apostles and elders * 
and the * whole Church ' accepted 
bis solution to the very letter, 
sanctioning it by the words which 
were afterwards made a formula, 
' It bath seemed good to the Holy 
Spirit and to us ;' further, observ- 
ing that this post of James was not 
temporary and held in rotation, but 
that Paul treats him as the central 
person of the Christian body at 
Jerusalem, and that all antiquity 
reports him to have been the first 
bishop of the first Churoh — it may 
seem very remarkable that our 
Reformers have given so little pro- 
portionate weight to the Epistle of 
James. Whether Luther did or 
did not call it an Epistle of straw 
{epistola stramlnea), it appears un- 
questionable that the doctrines 
common to Luther and Calvin, but 
opposed by the Council of Trent, 
were based mainly on Paul ; and 
that, finding no support in James, 
the Reformers undervalaed him. 
James undoubtedly has not the 
warmth and kindling glow of Paul, 
and it is easy to understand how 
one who reads the Christian epistles 
without an idea of criticism finds 
Paul * more edifying ;' but in a 
historical enquiry criticism is car- 
dinal to success. 

James writes as a chief pastor, 
conscious of great responsibility, 
&nd above all things labours to keep 
down bigotry and strife among 
Christians. The one idea pervad- 
ing his Epistle is the superiority of 
right conduct to right opinion. 
To deliver men * from their sins * 
(and from him who had the power 
of sin) was — indeed according to 
Paul equally — the object of Christ's 
mission. A pure and loving life 
was the very end of rehgion. 
Hence for Christians to curse one 
another about religious tenets was a 
irightfiil error with James . Teachers 
might count it to be ivisdom, but such 
wisdom came not from above; it 



was earthly, sensual [or the wis- 
dom of the natural, unregenerate 
man], devilish. He implores them 
not to be * many teachers,' i.e. not 
eager to dictate, but to be * quick 
to hear, slow to speak, slow to 
wrath.' That curses and blessing 
should come out of the same 
Christian mouths shocked him un- 
feignedly. Paul had cursed the 
Christian teachers * who came from 
James ; ' James disapproved of both 
parties, but would not retaliate 
anathemas. He deprecated the at- 
tempt to impose circumcision and 
other legal ordinances on the Gren- 
tiles, for which an energetic mi- 
nority of Jewish Christians hurt- 
fully struggled ; but he also feared 
mischief from too much talk about 
faith, as if right opinion, before it 
generated right conduct, could 
avail any man. It is hard to doubts 
that he glances at Paul when he de- 
clares that Abraham was justiGed 
by works; Paul holding, on the 
contrary, that Abraham was jus- 
tified by faith; and the fact sug- 
gests that James knew Paul only 
at a distance — perhaps was too 
much repelled by his vehemence 
and arrogance of position to get 
any true insight into so complex a 
mind. Moreover, when James 
wishes to show what faith cannot 
save one, most of us modems would 
expect him to propound at least a 
belief in ' Christ's redemption ' as 
uppermost in his mind, even if we 
are too well informed to expect 
from him an avowal of the Trinity 
and atonement, or the powers of 
Holy Church. But no ; what is 
uppermost with him is the doctrine 
that there is one Ood ; to which he 
scornfully replies, * The devils also 
believe and tremble.' It would 
have suited his argument quite as 
well to add specially Christian 
elements to this scanty creed. To 
Paul he might have urged, * The 
devils also believe that Jesns is the 
Christ, and that He has died to de- 
stroy the works of the Devil ; ' but 



218 



What was Primitwe Christianity T 



[Angust 



James made the Jewish basis of 
theism so predominant that in his 
illustration he passes by Christ al- 
together. Christ is, as it were, at 
£[is minimum of exaltation with 
James, though he calls Him * a glo- 
rious Lord.' And this seems to be 
quite a sufficient reply to those who 
would now disparage the genuine- 
ness of James's Epistle because 
Eusebius, in the fourth century, 
calls it doubtful. Necessarily it could 
not bo a favourite with bishops who 
were discussing highflying tenets, 
and were very uncharitable to op- 
ponents; but it is hardly credible 
that such an epistle could have been 
forged in a later age, and quite in- 
credible that, if so forged, it could 
have gained currency quietly among 
the Churches. It would at once 
have been exposed, denounced, 
and trampled on. Like the * Acts 
of the Apostles,' the moderation 
and scantiness of its doctrine proves 
its antiquity. 

The last remark may suggest 
another conside]!^tion concerning 
the First Epistle of Peter. Morally 
and spiritually this epistle is among 
the very noblest and sweetest com- 
positions of the New Testament ; 
and since it has no new doctrine, 
nor any new arguments to support 
a disputed doctrine, it is difficult to 
imagine any motive (unless indeed 
the desire to give it currency) which 
should induce a composer to pass it 
off under a false name even in 
an age which regarded such frauds, 
when done with a pious intent, to be 
justifiable. But if it be not genuine, 
internal evidence proves it to be at 
least extremely ancient. The writer 
betrays no idea that Peter had any 
supremacy over the Church, or pri- 
macy among the Apostles and power 
of the keys. (Paul obviously was 
quite unaware of it, and so too John 
in Eev. i. i8 ? iii. 7.) Nothing can 
be more modest and unassuming 
than ' The elders who are among you 
I exhort, who am also an elder^ and 
a witness of the sufferings of Christ 



.... Feed the flock of God, . . . 
not as being lords over God's 
heritage, but being ensamples to the 
flock.' The striking language, 
almost contemptuous, by which he 
forbids overvaluing the externalities 
of baptism, belongs to the first era, 
when ceremonies were kept in their 
proper place. * The baptism which 
saves us ' (he says), * is not the 
putting away of the filth of the 
flesh (i.e. washing with water), but 
the answer of a good conscience ' 
(made in baptism). Though the 
general doctrine is called Pauline, 
it contains no intimation of prayer 
to Christ or mental communion 
with Him. The glorified Jesus is 
regarded as purely a localised being, 
who was on earth, but is now * gone 
into heaven, seated at the right 
hand of God, with angels subject to 
Him,' yet Christ is about to reappear, 
ready to be revealed in this last 
time. The writer implies that the 
Roman armies were gathering 
against Jerusalem. Hardly any 
other interpretation of the following 
words can commend itself (iv. 17): 

* It is the crisis for judgment to 
begin at the house of God ; and if 
first at usy* &c. It is more than 
possible that he addresses Jewish 
Christians by the phrase (i. i) 

* sojourners of the dispersion ; ' then 
(whether we read tts or yaw, iV/u«f 
or hfiHy) the Jewish nation is in 
either case intended. Thus we get 
a probable date, say a.d. 70, at 
which the epistle was either written 
or affected to be written. Compared 
to it the Christian compositions of 
the second century may almost 
be called trash. That it was actually 
written before the Acte of the 
Apostles, although that narrative is 
carried no lower than Paul's arrival 
at Home, appears almost certain 
from the wotAb dropped concemiog 
the resurrection of Jesus, as not 
bodily, but only spiritual. In the 
Acte it is plain that the doctrine 
current was that which appears in 
Matthew and the other gospels ; that 



] 



What was Primitive CJiristianity ? 



219 



ody of Jesus was resuscitated 
death. Indeed, in the Acts it 
3ged that Jesus was seen bj 
Apostles after His death for 
days, and conversed with them 
larly, in the midst of which 
as ckrried up into heaven in 
sight. So Peter to Cornelius 
[) is made to say, * We did eat 
jink with Him after He rose 
the dead.^ Nevertheless Peter's 
£pistle asserts (iii. i8), 'Christ 
»nt to death in flesh, but made 
in spirit ; * phraseology quite 
lei to that of a passage otber- 
jbscure (iv. 6). *The Gospel 
^reached even to the dead, that 
nly they might receive their 
Qce in flesh, but divinely live 
9 alive] in spirit.* It seems 
liably here to peep out that 
riter believed Christ'sresurrec- 
x> have been merely the return 
is spirit from Hades. Indeed, 
)es on to tell us that, when 
he went * in spirit ' (or spi- 
ly) to preach to the disobedient 
i which had been kept in 
1 from a time earlier than 
lood of Koah. This notion 
ently was borrowed from the 
ecy of Enoch, but to pursue 
[uestion would be away from 
irpose. Paul also, by naming 
m sight of the risen Jesus (of 
3 in a vision) as co-ordinate 
that of Peter, James, and all 
iwelve,* betrays his belief that 
only saw a spirit. On this 
nt the verse in question ( i Peter 
8) affords a very valuable 
ological mark, and aids to 
the primitive Gospel. For 
ow attain something earlier 
the representations in the Acts 
e Apostles and in the four 
Is, viz. that Christ's resurrec- 
as preached by the earliest 
les, meant the resurrection of 
lirit only, not of His body ; and 
les of handling His body, and 
t eating with the Apostles after 
sath, were exaggerations which 
when the Apostles were all 



removed from this earthly scene, 
and could no longer set the Churches 
right. That the compiler of the 
Third Gospel and of the Acts wrote 
at a time when the Church had 
already systematised the teaching 
of convex ts in classes before baptism, 
seems to be proved by Luke i. 4, 
which represents Theophilus as 
having been catechised (Karrixn^vc)' 
But the documents used by the com- 
piler are likely to have been some- 
what earlier. 

It must be added that the second 
chapter of the Acts has been marked 
out by the evangelical jmd highly 
esteemed professor Dr. Augustus 
Neander as signally misrepresent- 
ing the miracle of strange tongues. 
Nowhere else did it consist in speak- 
ing with foreign human language. 
Paul (i Cor. xiv. 1-23) distinctly 
manifests that the sounds were wild 
babbling. Nowhere but in Acts ii. 
are they naturally understood by 
anyone. Paul regards a divine 
interpreter to be obviously needful. 
This grave misrepresentation indi- 
cates that the tongues had vanished 
when the * Acts ' were compiled ; 
and that the interval of time was 
sufficient to allow a mythus to arise, 
for the glorification of the first 
occasion on which the excitement 
of the disciples exploded into these 
startling utterances. Thus, if any- 
one fix the compilation of the Acts 
and of the Third Gospel at about 
half a century after the death of 
Paul, he will have reasonable pro- 
bability on his side. 

At the same time we know the date 
of the Apocalypse with great accu- 
racy. The seventeenth chapter in- 
forms us that five emperors of Rome 
have already passed away: these 
are Augustus Octavianus, Tiberius 
Cfesar, Caius Caligula, Claudius, 
and Nero, specially so called. A 
sixth emperor existed, and a seventh 
. was yet to come, and to continue 
for a little while, until expelled by 
the eighth, who was also the fifth. 
This enigma is perfectly explained 



220 



What was Primitive GhristianUy ? 



[August 



by the historically attested belief, 
especially in the eastern part of the 
empire, that Nero was not dead, 
but had escaped to the Parthians 
beyond Euphrates, and would be 
* restored by their armies. Since this 
was not fulfilled (though several 
false Neros distressed the empire), 
we see that the prophecy cannot 
have been later. It was written 
then in the tumultuous time when 
Gralba, Otho, Vitellius, Vespasian, 
quickly followed one another, and 
the East was slow to learn who was 
in power at Rome. In the conflict 
between the armies of Vitellius and 
of Vespasian the Capitol of Rome 
was burnt down ; on which Tacitus 
(Hist, iii. 72) bitterly moralises: 
*Facinus post conditam urbem luc- 
tuosissimum foedissimumque.' The 
same thing had happened in the 
civil war of Marius and Sulla. To 
the provincials it naturally seemed 
like an omen of the falling empire ; 
and in the Apocalypse it appears to 
be alluded to, by saying that the 
ten horns, *ten kings who have no 
kingdom as yet ' (i.e. provincial 
generals), * shall hate the whore and 
burn her with fire.' Thus about 
A.D. 70, or at latest a.d. 71, the 
Apocalypse was written, the perse- 
cution by Nero still boiling in the 
writer's mind. In it we already 
find the doctrine of the Aoyoc pro- 
claimed — a theory borrowed by the 
Jews of Alexandria, and among 
them by Philo, from the Neo-Pla 
tonists there settled. It is remark- 
able that we have not this word in 
the Epistle to the Hebrews, strongly 
as it is imbued with Alexandrian 
culture and rhetoric. On the whole, 
we seem to know pretty closely 
what doctrines were taught by Paul, 
James, Peter, and John, from twen- 
ty to forty years after the death of 
Jesus. 

Before trying to define what they 
sepai'ately believed, let us note down 
what they did not believe. First, 
they cei*tainly had no idea of an 
ecclesiastical, that is, a sacerdotal 



system, in which either priests and 
bishops, or bishops and Pope, or 
Pope alone, should act as lords over 
faith and conscience. Nor had they 
belief in any efficacy of sacraments 
(so called) as separate from the faith 
of the recipient. Nor was either 
'ministration' of the sacraments, 
or preaching, confined to the of- 
ficers called pastors (shepherds) or 
bishops (overseers). The deacons, 
though appointed to serve tahleSy 
preached when occasion suggested. 
Paul very seldom baptised, and dis- 
tinctly avows, * Christ sent me not 
to baptise, but to preach the Grospel.* 
The deacon Philip baptises the 
eunuch in the Acts. In later times 
freedom of baptism was continued 
to the laity, lest anyone (especially 
an infant) should die unbaptised; 
but a superstitious value of the or- 
dinance alone here saved the pri- 
mitive freedom. So much of eccle- 
siasticism. 

Secondly, these Apostles had no 
such faith concerning the Trinity or 
the Person of Christ as could for 
a moment alarm Jewish mono- 
theism. At present it is confessed 
by missionaries that no Christian 
teacher who addresses a Mussul- 
man can for a single half-hour 
evade a sharp controversy on this 
subject and the imputation of poly- 
theism. No breath of such ob- 
jection is heard in the Acts of the 
Apostles nor in any Epistle, though 
Jews were sensitive as Moham- 
medans. Even in the Fourth 
Gospel, which, like Paul, attributes 
pre-existence to Jesus, Jesus Him- 
self is made to shrink at once 
before an imputation of * making 
Himself equal to God,' and to take 
refuge in the evasive plea that — * I 
said, ye are gods* — was addressed by 
a psalmist to some great men. The 
Eternal, Unapproachable, Invisible 
Father and Creator is entitled * the 
only true God ' by Jesus, and in ex- 
press contrast to Himself as Christ, 
in that Gospel ; which entirely thus 
agrees with Paul and wiUi the 



1875] 



What was Primitive Ghnsiianity ? 



221 



writer to the Hebrews. The one 
tme God did not include Messiah. 
No Tri- unity was preached. Two 
views of Christ's person appear, 
an earlier and a later. In the 
earlier yh-e was a man chosen by God, 
exalted and glorified, to restore the 
kingdom to Israel, sit in judgment 
on Jew and Grentile, and establish 
over the whole earth a Divine, 
blessed rule under which only 
saints would bear sway. Evidently 
nothing of this could He do, save 
by the mission and power of God ; 
therefore all angels were put at 
His disposal, to execute His com- 
mands, and, no doubt, to arrest and 
imprison all the evil angels, prin- 
cipahties, and powers of darkness 
who were believed to uphold the 
pagan kingdoms. Thus even in the 
lower interpretation Messiah was 
ihe highest of created beings, angels 
and dominions and powers being 
made subject to Him. This, we 
may presume, was the creed of 
James; and in such a representa- 
tion of Messiah's character no Jew 
found anything to repel him, though 
he ever so vehemently declined to 
identify Jesus with Messiah. In 
tlie Acts of the Apostles nothing 
'HOTS than this can be detected or 
i^easonably surmised. Indeed, no so 
foil avowal of Christ's greatness is 
there made. This then must have 
heen the doctrine current in the 
earhest Jewish Church. We cannot 
know, but we may reasonably sus- 
pect, that the second view was first 
hrought in by Paul, who held Jesus 
to have pre-existed, and to have 
been the earliest of created beings, 
as well as the greatest. In the 
Epistle to the Colossians he en- 
titles him Hhe first- bom of all 
creation/ with many other mag- 
nificent words which no subtlety 
can explain away. They prove that 
Pkul agreed neither with Atha- 
oasius nor with Dr. Priestley, but 
was what later times called an 
Arian. A pa already quoted 

demonstrates uiai; Paul excluded 



Christ from the unity of the God- 
head. 'Though the heathen have 
gods many and lords many, yet 
unto us there is but one God— the 
Father, of whom are all things ; and 
one Lord — Jesus Christ, by whom 
are all things.' The Father with 
him was the source ; the Son the 
agent, minister, or instrument. 

The composer of the Fourth Gos- 
pel chimes in to the letter (John 
xvii. 1-3) : * Father ! .... it is 
life eternal to know Tliee, the only 
true God, and Jesus Christ whom 
Thou hast sent.' The doctrine of 
Paul to the Colossians is adopted 
by the writer to the Hebrews. 
With him, the Son is the bright- 
ness of the Father's glory, and the 
express image of His person — far 
higher than the angels, inasmuch 
as hy Him the Father created the 
worlds, and has appointed Him heir 
of all things. According to Paul 
(i Cor. XV. 23-28) the times of 
universal restitution talked of in 
Acts iii. will be brought about by 
Christ putting down all rule, au- 
thority, and power (opposed to 
God), and, after thus subduing all 
enemies. He will Himself resign EKs 
regal position, and restore the king- 
dom to God. Had not the whole 
of this theory sharply contrasted 
God and Christ, and exhibited 
Christ as a mere creature, existing 
and ruling by the supreme will and 
power of God, it must necessarily 
nave encountered direct, implacable 
attack from the Jews as impious 
idolatry ; but we know that it did 
not. Even in the middle of the 
second century Justin represents 
his worst objections from Typho 
the Jew to turn on such matters as 
the Sabbath and circumcision, and 
has no dread of a formidable attack 
for polytheism. Hence, on the 
whole, it becomes historically cer- 
tain that if John or anyone else 
announced the Aoyoc , as God's Wis- 
dom, to be co-eternal with God, aiid 
herewith denied that that which 
pre-existed of Jesus had a begin- 



222 



What ivas Primitive Christianity ? 



ning in time as a creature, he must 
have evaded the imputation of poly- 
theism by a well-known 'heresy/ 
viz. by denying that the Aoyoc 
and Jesus were one Person. To 
hold that God's Wisdom dv)elt in 
the man Jesus was to drop pro- 
digiously lower than the Arian 
doctrine, while affecting to rise 
above it. Who can wonder that 
none of the Ante-Nicene Fathers 
are esteemed orthodox concerning 
the Trinity ? 

Thirdly, these Apostles did not 
teach that hecause Christ sustained 
the punishment of sin £[imself, 
therefore God's justice was satisfied 
without punishing sinners. As 
said above, there are a few startling 
texts (one, indeed, in Peter's First 
Epistle) which to those who, un- 
happily, judge by isolated phrases, 
and ' tui*n rhetoric into philosophy ' 
(as Coleridge sagaciously describes 
it), will always be misleading ; but 
to judge of a writer's doctrine by 
single expressions is against good 
sense, and is eminently unfair to 
him. We cheat ourselves by it. 
Two considerations are here de- 
cisive, (i) Neither Gentile nor 
Jew believed a sacrifice to take 
away moral sin. An uproar of 
amazement would have arisen if 
Christians had then announced so 
novel and immoral an idea as the 
vicarious punishment of guilt. A 
sacrifice which gave a dinner to the 
priest's famOy or a banquet to a 
multitude was popular on numerous 
occurrences; but it is easily mis- 
understood by the modems. In 
the Epistle to the Hebrews the 
writer clearly defines that the High 
Priest atoned with blood for the 
errors (ay voi^fiara) of the people, 
i.e. for defilements occasioned by 
inadvertence, or for neglect of cere- 
monies. So l^e Romans propitiated 
evil omens. (2) Close examina- 
tion shows that, in the New Testa- 
ment, the blood so often alluded to 
was regarded as only sanctifying the 
Christian and purging away sin. 



So Hebrews ix. 13, 14; i 
18, 19; Apoc. vii. 14. 

At the same time neithe 
Epistle of James nor in the 
the Apostles is a single t* 
can for a moment create d 
or even suggest that Chrisi 
has any tendency to purge 
science. Indeed, James c< 
to observe the Mosaic h 
therefore cannot have se 
weight in Paul's arguments 
the law as sivch^ or have 
that it was introduced tl 
might abound,' and hei 
* curses ' on the worship^ 
therefore seems clear that, ; 
to Paul's teaching, the ren 
the Mosaic law aud its c 
Christ's polluted death, the 
(of James) was current tha 
simply suffered hy man's sii 
benefit of man, this being i 
chosen by God's wisdom 1 
gurate His new dispensati 
exhibit the highest sa 
hrough the highest suffering 
appears the reasonable expo 
the primitive doctrine c 
Cross.' 

These topics lead on to c 
on the extreme coldness, 
ness, and even injustice of 
ful laymen towards the c« 
body of the clergy. It avai 
blame the clergy ; they ai 
the laity and powerful la 
made them. Everyman mo- 
well informed is aware t 
English Reformation was 
rupted by the accession of 
Mary to the throne, and sto] 
the crooked policy of Eli 
even then, but for royal vi 
it would have gone much 
But the criticism of antiqu: 
in its infancy, even with Mil 
Locke. After Vico and I 
Eichhom and Michaelis, a g 
vance took place. With tl 
vation of astronomy and ph} 
new worlds of thought ha^ 
opened, and all research has 
more accurate. Vast erudii 



1875] 



What was Prknitive Ohristianity ? 



223 



accumulated. New and larger Re- 
forms of religion would have followed 
within the Anglican Church, had it 
not been artificially hindered by the 
laity, who nphold by law for the 
clergy a stereotype creed, from 
which they keep themselves free. 
The clergy are entrapped into their 
position in early yonth, and then 
subiected to the severest penalty — 
that of losing their T^hole Ufe's pros, 
pect, for which they may have sacri- 
ficed all worldly ambitions — if, in 
their full manhood, they dare to be- 
come wiser than the compara- 
tively ill-tanght reformers of three 
and a half centuries ago. If the 
educated laity had dealt fairly with 
the clergy a hundred years back, 
and relaxed the subscriptions, a 
gradual change of opinion would 
have grown up, with an ever- 



increasing national cohesion, with- 
out convulsions and with a mini- 
mum of unseemly strife. By 
locking up the Church in an iron 
shell, the laity who rule Parliament 
have prepared for us an ill-omened 
disruption. Moreover, they have 
brought back Komanism into their 
own femilies, by keeping fast in the 
liturgies and rubrics the germs 
out of which Romanism has at all 
times grown. • They have degraded 
the clergy (for who can care for 
the opinion of enslaved minds?) 
and have most gravely damaged us 
morally, filling the land wiQi hy- 
pocrisy and cowardice, and post- 
poning the era of religious stability. 
And now, as our reward, a weak 
old priest, who calls himself infal- 
lible, is become a terror to our 
statesmen. 




224 



THE KINGDOM OF BURMAH IN 1875. 
By Captain Edmond Browne, 2ist Royal North British Fus 



IT is now nearly a quarter of a 
century since the attention of 
the British public was turned to 
the progress of our arms in that 
land of lofty mountains and mighty 
rivers which, bounded on the west 
and south by the Bay of Bengal, 
stretches eastward and northward 
to the borders of China and Assam. 

But at the present time the com- 
plications with the Court of Ava, 
necessitating Sir Douglas Forsy the's 
mission to Mandalay, seem to 
threaten the outbreak of a third 
Burmese war. This state of affairs 
may render acceptable to our readers 
the following slight sketch of the 
history, government, and present 
resources of what still remains of 
the ancient Empire of Burmah, 
from the best published authorities, 
along with the personal observa- 
tions of the writer in the country of 
which he speaks. 

In common with that of most 
Asiatic countries, the early his- 
tory of Burmah is obscure and 
of doubtful veracity. Accustomed 
to preserve only records of stirring 
events, and to carve these on 
the bark of trees, or on stone; 
given, too, by nature and habit 
to boundless exaggeration, the 
history of their nation, before its 
association with Western civilisa- 
tion, is not to be received without 
-considerable reserve. 

Marco Polo (about the year 
1272) seems to be the first European 
who visited the shores of Burmah, 
but it was not until the beginning 
of the sixteenth century that Euro- 
pean adventurers attempted to 
establish trade relations with the 
Burmese. At this period their 
history seems analogous with that 
of Mexico at the time of its in- 



vasion by Cortes. Thei 
Kings of Ava, Pegu, To 
Arakan, and Tenasserim. 

Between these monarch 
necine feuds continually rag 
varying results. To-day 
would be in the hands 
Arakanese; a month lat< 
kan would be desolated 
Peguans. As may be e 
in these wars no quarter w: 
or expected, and although 1 
quered were not taken aliv 
Mexico, to be reserved as s 
to the native gods, the 
of a conquering army was 
by plunder, rapine, bloodsh 
all the horrors of savage 
One Boves, a Jesuit, wr 
1600, of the capture of I 
the Kings of Arakan and 
hou, says: 

It is a lamentable spectacle t 
banks of the river, set with infii 
bearing trees, now overwhelmed 
ruins of gilded temples and nobh 
the ways and fields full of the s 
bones of wretched Peguans, kill 
mished, and cast into the river 
numbers that the multitude of the 
prohibited the passage of any shi 

From time to time Poi 
adventurers lent themsel 
these quarrels, and in the 
ning of the seventeenth cen 
hear of one Philip de Brito 
established himself at Siriai 
proclaimed King of Pegu, 
some time wielding s( 
power. In 16 13, however, 
attacked by the King of A' 
notwithstanding assistance i 
King of Arakau, was defea 
taken prisoner to Ava, 
impaled body set up in 
spicuous place in that city 
dominion of Ava over the lo 



* Yule's Ava, 



The Kingdom ofBurrnah in 1875. 



225 



writes Colonel Yale, * dates 
his period.' Slie extended 
iqaests down the Tenasserim 
capturing Tavoy and he- 
the capital, and taking pos- 
of the Shan city of Zimme. 
Qow followed a peace of some 
m, and trade was resumed. 
East India Company, which 
<med in 1599, sent agents to 
of the large towns on the 
ddy, and a factory, it is said, 
ablished as far north as Bamo. 
nployes of the Honourable 
ny were in those days for- 
y humble, and kept steadily 
i¥ the desirability of profit- 
rade; fortunately, for on 
>ns of royal whim or dis- 
re foreign residents were 
L with great ignominy. 
[695 we hear of Nathaniel 
iflon. Governor of Fort St. 
3, Madras, sending a mission 
Golden Feet, bearing 1,000 
18, and a letter couched in 
lowing modest terms : 

is Imperial Majesty who blesseth 
le city of Ara with his presence, 
• of emperors, and excelling the 
f the East and West in glory and 
the clear firmament of virtue, 
intain of justice, the protector of 
, the lord of charity, the protector 
distressed, the first mover in the 
of greatness ; president in council ; 
as in war, who feareth none and is 
by aU; centre of the treasures of 
th and of the sea ; lord proprietor 
and silver, rubies, amber, and all 
I jewels ; favoured by Heaven and 
d by men ; whose brightness shines 
I the world as the light of the sun. 
Me great name will be preserved in 
al memory. 

rafty * Firmament of Virtue' 
certainly expect, after this 
ble, that some favour would 
ked of him ; and the osten- 
favour was permission to 
on trade unmolested in his 
ions. The real object, how- 
seems to have been to get as 
as possible out of the King in 
ray of presents, the envoys 
directed, if the presents were 
xn, — ^No. Lxvin. nbw seribs. 



not forthcoming in sufficient quan- 
tity, to emulate a certain small 
celebrity and * ask for more.' 

In about the middle of the 
eighteenth century the history of 
Burmah is the history of Alompra 
(or Aloung Phrya). This great 
statesman and general was a man 
of low origin, who had employed 
his younger days as a hunter near 
his native city, Mootshoboo, north- 
west of the present capital. 

Having by the force of his daring 
and energetic character contrived 
to collect around him a band of 
wild and kindred spirits, he attacked 
Ava, drove out the ruling dynasty, 
and proclaimed himself king. In 
this high capacity he gave evidence 
of great military and adminis- 
trative talents, with one stroke 
crushing the rebellious Peguans, 
and in that province firmly esta- 
blishing his power. With him a 
treaty was signed by the English 
traders,called Ensign Lister's treaty, 
June 1757, a period favourable to 
such undertaking, the attention of 
the world being at this time turned 
to the victories of Clive in India. 

This treaty conceded to us in- 
perpetuity the island of Migrais in-, 
return for a pledge of military assis- 
tance. The concession was fraught 
with fatal results, as the King, ren- 
dered impatient by the quarrels and 
intrigues of the French and English 
traders, caused all Europeans on. 
the island of Migrais to be foully 
massacred on October 5 , 1759. On 
a mission being despatched to seek 
satisfaction for these outrages, it 
was found that Alompra was dead, 
and the succession to the throne 
disputed. Upon Alompra's son,, 
however, gaining the crown, the 
release of some European prisoners 
was effected, but no satisfaction 
obtained either for the savage 
murders or the indignities under- 
gone by Mr. Hoi well's (the Governor 
of Fort William) deputy. Captain 
Alves. Alompra's son possessed na 
small share of his father's genius. 

s 



226 



The Kingdom of Burmah in 1875. 



[August 



In 1783 Le conquered and annexed 
the fertile province of Arakan to 
the Burmese Empire, which was 
now at the zenith of its power. 
Successively, in the years 1794, 
1797, and 1802 protests were sent 
to this barbarous Court against en- 
croachments made on our Chitta- 
gong frontier. The officers. Cap- 
tain, afterwards Colonel, Symes, 
and Captain Cox, who were selected 
by the Go venor- General for this 
trying duty, were subjected to great 
insults and were unable to accomplish 
their end. The audacity and un- 
bridled greed of the King of Burmah 
increased on finding punishment 
so slow, but a day of reckoning 
drew near, and on the Burmese 
troops penetrating as far as Cachar, 
with the evident further intention 
of extending the power of their 
Empire into the heai^ of Hindostan, 
our frontier troops engaged them 
and drove them back, and finally, 
in the y6ar 1824 (March 5) the 
Government of India declared war 
against the Burmese Empire. 

A close examination of this cam- 
paign would perhaps interest only 
the military reader, so it shall be 
treated as briefly as possible. 

The first army, which may be call- 
ed the Army of the Burrampoota, was 
commanded by Colonel McMorine ; 
it invaded Assam and successfully 
advanced up the Great River, 
capturing the cities of Johath and 
Rungpoor, which latter operation 
closed the campaign. During its 
progress this army lost its leader, 
who died of cholera, Colonel Richards 
succeeding to the command. 

The operations of the second 
army — the Silhet force — were un- 
successful. The object of its leader, 
Colonel Innes, was to drive the 
Burmese out of Cachar ; but owing 
to the difficult nature of the ground, 
and the fact that General Shnldham's 
reinforcements — to the number of 
7,000 — made the force unwieldy 
and overgrown, the campaign was 
an utter failure. That the force 



was unnecessarily large was proved 
by the Raja of Munipoor being able, 
with 500 raw levies armed by the 
British Government, to capture his 
ancestral city and drive off the 
Burmese troops. The Chittagong 
columns had meanwhile met with a 
great calamity. A party, under 
Captain Noton, being sent forward 
by the commander. Colonel Shep- 
land,were met by the enemy in force, 
and had to retreat, when, on being 
pressed, the whole party broke and 
fled in every direction. Captain 
Noton and most of the officers were 
killed, three only (two of whom 
were wounded) escaping. 

The British Army of Arakan was 
decisively successful. It numbered 
in all r,ioo men, with a fair supply 
of artillery, and consisted of H.M. 
44th and 54th Regiments, edx regi- 
ments of native infantry, and some 
irregular troops, the entire fore© 
being commanded by Brigadier^ 
General Morrison. After some mis- 
haps it at last reached the capital — 
Amkan — and, after one unsuccessfal 
attempt, succeeded in dislodging 
the Burmese from some formidable 
entrenchments on commanding hills 
which overlook the place, and took 
the capital. 

The Army of the Irrawaddy was 
conveyed to the attack on Rangoon 
by a splendidly equipped British 
fleet. The Burmese seem to have 
been wholly unprepared or unable 
to defend the place, which fell 
immediately. Disease made great 
ravages in our ranks during the 
following rains, so much so that at 
one time the withdrawal of the 
troops was contemplated ; but as the 
season wore on, and their health 
improved, the spirits of the men 
rose at the prospect of an advance, 
which was effected as soon as 
practicable. 

After several engagements with 
the Burmese, under a renowned 
chief, Maha Bundoola, the enemy 
was completely routed, and Bun- 
doola, their last hope, slain. Ban- 



1875] 



The Kingdom of Burmah in 1875. 



227 



doola seems to have been a leader 

of great courage and energy, and is 

reported to haye made sure of bis 

gunners' stauncbness by chaining 

them to their guns. After one 

more crushing and decisive victory 

gained by the commander of this 

army, Sir Archibald Campbell, the 

Eling sued for peace. By the 

treaty then ratified — called the 

Treaty of Yandaboo — the first 

Burmese war came to a conclusion 

on February 24, 1826. By the 

terms of this treaty, according to 

Professor Wilson — 

The Burmese Government a^eed to ab- 
lUin from all interference with the affairs 
of Assam, Gachar, or Jynta ; to recognise 
Oambier Singh as Eaja of Munipoor; to 
reoeire a British resident at Aya, and 
depute a Burmese resident to Calcutta; 
to ooncnr in a commercial treaty ; to con- 
cede in perpetuity the four provinces of 
Arakan, as divided from Ava by the 
Anape Nmnien Mountains, and the pro- 
Tinces of Teh, Tavoy, Mergui, to the north 
of the Salween or Martaban Bivor ; and 
pBJ a crore of rupees in four instalments, 
^til the receipt of the second of which 
^goon WB8 to remain in possession of 
tile British. 

It might naturally have been 
expected that such a crushing 
series of defeats would have con- 
vinced the Burmese Government 
of the folly of contending with the 
British power, but the contrary 
Kerns to have been the case, for 
scarcely had our troops been with- 
^wn from the capital when, as 
Colonel Yule expresses it, * the ar- 
i^Qoe of the nation, with marvel- 
k>08 elasticity, recovered its old 
exorbitance.* 

hi the following September the 
attempt to negotiate a commercial 
treaty f&iled signally, and Mr. 
Cranfbrd, our representative, left 
^va, having experienced neglect 
*nd discourtesy. Major Bumey, 
^ho in 1 830-1837 was British 
i^ent, had, notwithstanding .his 
influence with the Burmese princes. 



to quit the capital and return to 
Calcutta. 

He was succeeded by Colonel 
Benson, but his Majesty refused to 
admit him to his presence. 

Captain M*Leod, whom Colonel 
Benson, after a six months' stay, 
left in charge, removed the resi- 
dency to Rangoon, finding his posi- 
tion in Ava untenable ; and a year 
afterwards the residency was with- 
drawn from the Burmese Empire. 
King Tharawaddy, who, by rebellion, 
had dethroned his brother and 
succeeded him, notwithstanding 
the continued annoyance he gave 
to our Government, was wont to 
express himself as most favourably 
inclined towards the British. When, 
in 1843, Sir Charles Napier's 
campaign in Sindh was first heard 
of in Amarapoora, the King declared 
that if the British Government 
would only send ships to Eangoon, 
he would put a thousand men in 
each ship to go and fight for us 
in Sindh. *I want nothing from 
Queen Victoria in return,' he added, 
'except a small feather or some 
such trifle.' » 

King Tharawaddy was succeeded 
by his son, who proved to bo in 
depravity and cruelty a more inhu- 
man savage than his father. He 
evinced the most decided aversion 
to Europeans, and subjected them to 
every species of annoyance. Our 
hands in India were at this period so 
full that the Governor- General in 
Council did his utmost to maintain 
peace. The Burmese Government, 
however, by their encroachments 
and insolence, made peace impos- 
sible, and on April 4, 1852, a 
powerful fleet of British steamers of 
war, under Admiral Austen, arrived 
at the mouth of the Rangoon river, 
having on board 6, 000 British troops, 
with two brigades of artillery, com- 
manded by Major- General Godwin, 
C.B. With these forces the cam- 
paign commenced. 



« YvlQ'sAvain 1855. 



R 2 



228 



The Kingdom of Burmah in 1875. 



[Augrusk 



The first operation was the cap- 
ture of Martaban on April 5, wliich 
freed the British residents at 
Moulmein from tlie fear of attack. 
Rangoon was then bombarded, the 
defending guns silenced, and two 
days afterwards the grand attack 
was made, when, after a tough and 
bloody resistance, the defences, of 
great natural strength, were scaled, 
and the defenders driven out. Our 
loss was great ; of oflBcers two were 
killed, fifteen wounded, and two died 
of sunstroke. 

Shortly afterwards an attempt 
was made by the enemy to reoccupy 
Martaban, which, however, was un- 
successful. The ancient city of 
Pegu w^as the object of an expedition 
which quickly destroyed its defences. 
The force left Rangoon on the 2nd of 
June, effected its end, and reached 
Rangoon again on the 5th. Prome 
was occupied by Captain Tarleton, 
R.N., who, with his expedition, de- 
stroyed the stockades and captured 
several guns. On the small con- 
quering force leaving Pegu the city 
was reoccupied and re-intrenched 
by the Burmese, but was retaken 
by the commander-in-chief, Major- 
General Godwin, C.B,, and gar*, 
risoned by him witl^ 600 men, 
the remainder of his troops be- 
ing led back to Rangoon. The 
Burmese, thinking the garrison 
weak, surrounded the city in great 
numbers, and night and day poured 
in missiles of every description 
— bullets, stones, pieces of iron. 
They also attempted to surprise 
the defenders by continual night 
attacks. For a month the little 
garrison bravely held out against 
this horde of savages, until at 
length the commander-in-chief in 
person relieved them, drove off the 
Burmese, and garrisoned the city 
with 700 men, of whom 450 were 
Europeans. On the General's return 
to Rangoon he received the Govcnor- 
GeneraFs proclamation annexing 
the province of Pegu to the 
British Empire in the East. 



The only serious reverse we 
experienced in the war was the 
failure, with heavy loss — including 
its leader. Captain Lock, R.N., 
C.B. — of an expedition sent against 
a robber chief, My at Toon. On 
the 22nd of February 1853, Sir 
John 'Cheape put himself in mo- 
tion to avenge the defeat and 
crush the only chief who now with- 
stood our power in Pegu. Owing, 
however, to the impenetrable nature 
of the jungle, and the numerous 
creeks crossing his line of march, the 
difficulties were insurmountable, and 
the project was abandoned. On the 
5th of March, with a reinforcement of 
1,000 men, he renewed the attack, 
and, after a frightfully fatiguing 
march, with cholera raging in his 
camp, at length arrived in front of 
Myat Toon*s stronghold. The 
success of the attack was for some 
time doubtful, owing to the natural 
strength of the position, but at 
length the key of this position was 
found, the stronghold stormed ab 
the point of the bayonet, and th& 
defenders slain or routed. Foremos'fc 
in this attack fell, wounded, Lieufc- 
Taylor and Ensign Wolsley ; the for- 
mer died of his wounds, the latter 
has lived to be an officer of no small^ 
distinction in the British army of 
our day. 

Peace was now sued for, and 
although no formal treaty waff 
signed hostilities ceased. Major 
Phayre, subsequently, was sent ta 
obtain a commercial treaty between 
Bnrmah and the British Qtjvemment, 
but after spending six weeks at the 
capital and being received by his 
Majesty, who was willing to talk of 
everything except the treaty, he had 
to depart with the object of his mis- 
sion unattained. * The two great 
Powers,' said the King, * were on 
friendly terms, and what was the 
use of a treaty ? * 

Our relations with Bnrmah re- 
mained in this unsatisfactory state 
until 1867, when Colonel Albert 
Fy tche succeeded Colonel Phayre as 



1875] 



TJie Kingdom of Bunnah in 1875. 



229 



Chief Commissioner. This distin- 
guished officer displayed tact and 
resolatiou in dealing with his Ma- 
jesty, and the much-wished-for 
commercial treaty was at last 
signed. 

In return for many trading 
facilities, the abolition of monopo- 
lies, and aid in reopening the 
trade route through Burmah to 
Western China, the King understood 
the treaty to give him the right to 
import arms. About this some 
difficulty has arisen. It is certain 
that Major Phay re in 1855 promised, 
on the conclusion of a commercial 
treaty, permission to his Majesty 
to import ' warlike stores,' but in 
Colonel Fytche*s treaty this clause 
must have been omitted, for our 
Ooyemment now deny to the King 
of Ava the privilege of importing 
breecb-loading arms. 

On the conclusion of the treaty, the 
Chief Commissioner despatched an 
expedition under Captain Sladen, 
political agent at Mandalay, to 
explore the route to Western China 
already referred to.^ The fate of 
tlie expedition might almost have 
^n foreseen. It was despatched 
with every show of respect and 
interest in the King's own steamer 
to Bamo, and proceeded inland 
accompanied by the effusive good 
^hes of the governor of the district ; 
^ six months it returned, having 
onlj reached Momien, about half- 
way to Talifoo, the capital of Yunan, 
which had been already reached by 
& French expedition up the Cam- 
bodia. 

Every obstacle h^d been thrown 
ui their way, and it is even asserted 
that the wild tribes had been 

• 

uutigated to assassinate the whole 
party. It is of course uncertain 
whether these measures were taken 
by the King's order or not. Some 
contend that the King was anxious 



to ensure the successful issue of the 
expedition, and had given instruc- 
tions accordingly, which the law- 
lessness of the country and the 
alarm of the hill tribes at the 
appearance of armed men rendered 
of no avail. But the past history 
of Burmah and her kings ; the 
insincerity of the latter, their shifti- 
ness, their jealousy of Europeans ; 
and then the form of deception, the 
outward sympathy at starting, and 
the savage treachery when the ex- 
pedition was isolated in the midst 
of a wild and hostile country, aU 
these points of evidence lead us to 
the belief that the expedition was 
obstructed and the party's lives en- 
compassed by the Eling himself. 
This was the belief of Captain Sladen 
and his entire force. 

This expedition and its fate has 
a mournful interest for us at the 
present time. The Hon. Ashley 
Eden, who has succeeded General 
Fytche as Chief Commissioner of 
Burmah, despatched a few months 
ago Colonel Horace Browne on a 
similar mission through the same 
country. The misfortunes of this 
expedition, the murder of young 
Margary, and the return of the 
party to Rangoon are now matters 
of history ; their result may be 
serious difficulties and complications 
with China. Much as these dis- 
astrous events are to be deplored, 
the gallant and skilful conduct of 
Browne and his little band in suc- 
cessfully defending themselves, and 
effecting an orderly retreat in the 
face of overwhelming numbers, has 
called forth universal admiration. 

The kingdom of Ava in 1875 is 
but a shadow of its former self. 
It extends from the Arakan Hills 
on the west to China and Cochin 
China on the east, and from the 
British frontier northward to the 
Himalayas, an area of 44,450 square 



' The practicability of this route had the year before been ably demonstrated by 
Br. Clement Williams, whom Captain Sladen had succeeded as political agent at Man- 
da]^. See Tknmgh Burmah to Western China, 



280 



The Kingdom of Burmah in 1875. 



[August 



miles. The country is plentifully 
watered by the numerous creeks 
and branches of the two great 
rivers the Irrawaddy and the Sal- 
ween ; but, although rich, it is little 
cultivated. Its scenery is pic- 
turesquely wild, but, owing to the 
impenetrable tracts of jungle, some- 
what monotonous. 

From the British frontier, Thayet- 
myo, to Mandalay the traveller 
finds much that is interesting; 
the most remarkable places being 
Yenangyoung, celebrated for its 
petroleum wells, which yield yearly 
11,000 tons of oil, and the ruins of 
the ancient city of Pagan, which 
extend seven miles along the Irra- 
waddy's left bank, and two miles 
inland, the pagodas and temples 
being of various forms of architec- 
ture, and in all stages of decay. 
The present capital, Mandalay, is 
not strongly fortified ; it is built in 
the form of a square, a wall twenty- 
five feet high surrounding it, each 
face of which is as nearly as possible 
a mile in extent. Outside the wall 
a broad but shallow moat also sur- 
rounds the city, which is approached 
by twelve gates, three in each face ; 
the streets, which run parallel to 
the walls, cutting the city into 
squares of houses, are broad, but 
Bhamefully neglected. 

In the centre of the city stands 
the palace, guarded jealously by 
stockades, walls, and strong gates. 
Here dwells the King of Burmah, 
and here, too, dwells the White 
Elephant— which is held in super- 
stitious awe by the Burmese. It 
has a wall eye, but its hide is no 
different from the common elephant, 
its snowy hue being attributed to 
the plentiful application of pumice- 
stene. The reception-hall of his 
Majesty* is a type of barbaric 
splendour, the gaudy glass and 



gold - leaf ornaments contrasting 
strangely with the dirt and neglect 
which pervade the entire building. 

From the capital to Bamo — a dis- 
tance of 300 miles — the Great River's 
banks are but sparsely peopled : it 
runs, however, through a country 
said to abound in mineral resources, 
gold, silver, lead, coal in immense 
quantities ; and rubies and other 
precious stones are found in the 
mountains which overlook the val- 
ley of the Upper Irrawaddy. The 
ruby mines are alone regularly 
worked. The city of Bamo, which 
is printed in such large characters 
in most maps, is a small, dirty, and 
straggling place on the left bank of 
the Great River, containing about 
3,000 inhabitants, Burmese, Chi- 
nese, Shans, and Paloungs, and 
other cognate races who inhabit 
these wild regions. The Chinese 
monopolise the trade of the place, 
which is not, and has no appear- 
ance of ever having been, great or 
prosperous. 

One word about the Burmese 
system of government. The mo- 
narch has absolute power of life or 
death, and can confiscate property 
without trial or investigation. The 
affairs of State are principally con- 
ducted by a council of four Woonghis, 
or Ministers of State. These con- 
stitute what is called the Hlwot- 
dau, or High Court and Council of 
the monarchy. Next in importance 
come the Atwen Woons, or Minis- 
ters of the Interior, who supply the 
private wante of his Majesty, and 
convey his orders to the supreme 
council. Subordinate to, but sit- 
ting in the same council with the 
Woonghis, are four Woondouks, 
whose duty it is to assist, and some- 
times advise, the High Court. 

For the purposes of local govern- 
ment and collection of revenue the 



* This description is from the writer^s personal observations. The subject has 
been more fully treated in A Military Beport on tie Siver Irrawaddy frrnn Ava to 
Bamo; also, Upper Burmah^ its Defetices and Warlike Betources, a lecture delivered 
at the United Service Institution, Whitehall Yard, on June 25, by the author. -> 



1875] 



The Kingdom of Bwrmah in 1S75. 



281 



conn try is divided into myos, or 
districts, presided over by a gover- 
nor, or mys-oke, who appoints his 
own subordinates over towns and 
villages. 

The revenue is obtained from 
several sources — the house or 
family tax — each district being 
taxed according to the number of 
houses in it. Agriculture is taxed 
according to its value, the tax being 
almost invariably paid in kind. 
Rice, pepper, onions, tobacco, Pal- 
myra trees yielding juice for sugar, 
salt, and other articles of daily con- 
sumption, as well as bullocks for 
ploughing, and sometimes fisheries, 
are taxed. The district governors 
are paid by perquisites, which sys- 
tem affords scope for boundless 
extortion and fraud. In 1855, ac- 
cording to Colonel Yule, the revenue 
of the kingdom of Ava amounted to 
4oo,oooZ. 

The military service of Burmah 
^s of course compulsory, and is or- 
ganised on the local system, each 
district having to supply a contin- 
gent in number proportionate to its 
population. The chief officers are 
Do-ghis, or commandants (of 500 
Dten); bos, or captains of hundreds ; 
thwe-thonghis, or captains of 
fifties; and akyats, or captains of 
^. There is no attempt made, 
m times of peace, to train these 
forces, the officers being, as a rule, 
^tafly ignorant of their duties. In 
Diost parts of the country districts 
We to support, by money and rice, 
^e soldiers taken from their num- 
oer. The soldiers are chosen by 
the thonghis, but can obtain sub- 
stitutes by payment of money, or 
by the cancelling of a debt. 

It will by this be seen that the 
strength of the Burmese army de- 
pends on the country's population, 
the number and efficiency of the 
^^nns, and the quantity of the am- 
Diunition. 

The population, for the area of 
oomitryy is extraordinarily scanty, 
l>eiiig estimated at 3,000,000 only, 



including the hill tribes, whose al- 
legiance to the King is doubtfalr 
The arms are few, and for the most 
part indifferent. His Majesty . b^. 
some hundreds of cannon, but be 
has no . ammunition for them. The 
nominal commander-in-chief of the 
Bang's forces is a Frenchman, M. de 
Facien, whose military qualifications 
there is no reason to doubt. 

Ava has no naval resources : the 
King has some steamers — bnilt for 
him in England- — with which he 
trades up and down the river ;^ 
and from time to time there is talk 
of gunboats being built in Mandalay, 
but they never appear, the fact 
being that, one by one, as they are 
finished, they are delegated to ttte 
less glorious but more utilitarian 
duty of carrying rice up and down 
the Irrawaddy. Education, to a 
small extent, is universal among the 
Burmese. Almost every Burman 
can read and write, being taught in 
childhood by the phoonghees, or 
priests, of whom each village con- 
tains a certain number, their dis- 
tinguishing costume being a yellow 
gown ; their heads are shaved and 
are bare. They are forbidden to 
marry. The Burmese literature is 
almost entirely confined to plays, 
often of an immoral tendency, and 
amatory songs. 

In religion the Burmese, in com- 
mon with all the Indo-Chinese races, 
are Buddhists ; they do not believe 
in the existence of a Supreme Being, 
but * in reward and punishment in 
an infinite succession of existences.*" 
In this faith, it has been calculated, 
live over 300 millions of souls. 

Unlike the majority of Asiatics (writes 
Major Allen), the Burmese are not a fawn- 
ing race. They are cheerful and singularly 
alive to the ridiculous, buoyant, elastic, 
soon recovering from personal or domestic 
disaster, \yith little feeling of patriotism, 
they are still attached to their homes; 
greatly so to their families. Free from 
prejudices of caste or creed, they readily 
fraternise with strangers, and at all times 
frankly yield to the superiority of the 
European. Though ignorant, they are, 
where no mental exertion is requii^, in- 



232 



Hie Kingdom o/Bwrmah in 1875. 



[August 



qnisidye, and to a certain extent eager 
for information, indifferent to the shedding 
of blood on the part of their rulers, yet 
not individually cruel; temperate, ab- 
stemious, and hardy, but idle, with neither 
fixedness of purpose nor perseverance. 
Discipline or any continued employment 
becomes irksome to them, yet they are not 
devoid of a certain degree of enterprise. 
Ghreat dabblers in small mercantile ven- 
tures, they may be called (the women 
especially) a race of hucksters. Not 
treacherous or habitual perverters of the 
truth, yet credulous and given to monstrous 
exaggeration. Where vested with authority, 
arrogant and boastful if unchecked, corrupt, 
oppressive, and arbitrary. Not distinguished 
for bravery, while their chiefs are notorious 
for cowardice, for with the latter cunning 
in war ranks before courage. Inexpert in 
the use and careless in the preservation of 
their arms, they are indifferent shots, and, 
though living in a country covered with 
forest, are not bold followers of field sports. 



Sach, then, are the subjects of 
the monarch who, by his unjust and 
tyrannical conduct, oppressing an 
inoffensive people, and occupying 
their country with his troops, has 
called forth the stem rebuke of 
Great Britain. To judge by all 
past experience, words alone will 
not avail. 

It is certain that his kingdom is 
shamefully ruled ; the resources of 
the country are entirely undeve- 
loped, and the people swindled and 
oppressed by the Government. 

His Majesty has hitherto thrown 
every obstacle in the way of our 
trade with western China, and is 
likely to do so again, unless he re- 
ceives some new proof of our 
power. 




1875] 



233 



REMARKS ON A RECENT IRISH ELECTION.' 

By One op the Electors. 



NOW that the law has pronounced 
its dictum in the case of the 
late Tipperarj election — that the 
grave has claimed all that was mor- 
tal of that county's twice-chosen 
representative, and that the excite- 
ment caused bj the contest and sub- 
sequent petition has had time to 
oool, it may be worth the reader's 
while to have submitted to him a 
calm, and we trust impartial, view 
of the whole matter, if for no other 
reason, at least to remove some mis- 
conceptions, and to lead him to 
think more favourably of our Irish 
character. 

As, however, the views of any 
writer, especially on a political 
question, are so liable to be in- 
fluenced by his social connections, 
his rehgious tendencies, or, accord- 
ing to the Darwinian theory, his 
hereditary descent, it may be well 
for the present one to define his 
standpoint, that the reader may 
judge what amount of reliance to 
attribute to his opinions. Suffice 
1^ to say therefore that, originally 
<^f Scoto-Presbyterian descent, and 
^ni and educated in one of the 
^ost Presbyterian parts of Ulster, 
"6 has, for over forty years, been a 
'^ent in this, Ireland's * premier 
county,' that in his religious views 
^ stands at the antipodes of those 
Qeld by this county's peasantry, 
^d that, as to politics, though 
P<>S8es8ed of the franchise since 
Jhortly after his first settlement, he 
*^ never exercised it save on two 
^^^^casions, chiefly because he was 
^ble to sympathise fully with 
^ther party that aimed to repre- 
^nt him in the British Parliament. 
flifi Ulster birth and Presbyterian 
Prejudices have not, however, been 
^le to blind him to the many ex- 



cellences of the Munster character, 
though they may have given him a 
keener insight into its defects ; nor 
can he understand why love of 
country, however seemingly eccen- 
tric sometimes in its expression, 
should not be more generally appre- 
ciated in the Irishman, when the 
German is praised for his love 
of Fatherland, the Frenchman 
honoured for devoting fortune and 
life to the service of his country, 
and everything British is made the 
standard of perfection the wide 
world over in the eyes of the Eng- 
lishman. And in this love of coun- 
try, and the inherent gratitude of 
the Irish peasantry, will be found 
the true solution of the much-mis- 
interpreted but unanimous election 
of the formerly expatriated John 
Mitchel. 

The British Press, whether Li- 
beral or Conservative, looking on 
it from an English standpoint, with 
one accord naturally represented it 
as an expression of disloyalty to the 
British Government; but this was 
by no means generally the case. 
That it was so intended by some of 
the more enthusiastic but least in- 
fluential of our politicians I moan 
not to deny ; but these I venture to 
assert, from local knowledge, now 
form but a very minor part of this 
large constituency. Since the pass- 
ing of Gladstone's Act respecting 
the land tenure, however defective 
it is felt to be in many respects, the 
great majority of the voters have 
no desire to repeal the Union, if 
that were practicable, or to part 
company with the best consumers 
of their beef and mutton, their oats 
and flour. Why, then, did these 
not start an opposing candidate P 
Simply because they felt that a 



' [While £u* from agreeisff with some of our contributor's remarks, we regard his 
P&pff as worthy of consideration. — £d.] 



234 



Remarlcs on a Recent Irish Election, 



[August 



compliment was due to the man 
who, some quarter of a century 
before, when they had no such se- 
curity for their tenures, and when 
rackrents and the failure of the po- 
tato, had left most of them but one 
of three alternatives — starvation, 
emigration, or rebellion against the 
powers that be — had honestly, how- 
ever injudiciously, counselled the 
latter, and had sacrificed his' home, 
friends, and all that men hold dear, 
in attestation of his determined 
honesty of purpose. It was not 
that they would now approve of 
John MitchcFs policy. Indeed, 
most — I may say all of them — were 
quite ignorant what his policy 
would be under the altered cir- 
cumstances of the country. All 
knew that ho had been not only a 
Repealer, but a Separatist ; -but so 
had some others who had been 
exiled for their opinions, and now 
represented the country, and not 
unworthily, in the British Parlia- 
ment. A few who knew him best, 
and who had attended to his utter- 
ances in the American press, knew, 
or at least believed, that however 
he might desire to have his name 
enrolled in the list of Irish represen- 
tatives, he would not unsay his life 
by taking the oath of allegiance to 
British sovereignty, or bend his 
spirit to take his seat in the halls of 
Westminster ; but had this been 
generally known or credited, I do 
not believe that, if elected at all on 
the first occasion, he would have 
oeen by any means unanimously 
elected. The letter he published, 
clearly declaring his intention to 
this eflfect, appeared subsequently 
to his second election, and was felt 
by many of his most zealous sup- 
porters as most disappointing. Had it 
appeared sooner, he certainly would 
not have obtained so much support, 
nor have been the only candidate in 
the Liberal intei*est, even though the 
chief object then was, not that of 
complimenting John Mitchel, but of 
vindicating the freedom of election 



on the part of the constituency from 
Government dictation. At the time 
of his first election Mr. Mitchel's 
intention was not generally known. 
He had not then reached fliis coun- 
try ; and that election was cheer- 
fully acquiesced in by Liberals of 
all shades, and not actively opposed 
even by Conservatives, as it was 
deemed a fitting tribute to a man 
that had, in the day of Ireland's 
calamity, sacrificed all for love of 
country. 

The enthusiasm on his behalf too 
was all the greater inasmuch as his 
conduct contrasted so favourably 
with that of many who, before and 
since his expatriation, had been 
returned to Parliament. Disgusted 
with the conduct of men who, loud 
in their professions of patriotism, 
had only sought the electors* 
suffrages in order to advance their 
own interests, the electors of 
Tipperary were determined to have 
at least one disinterested repre- 
sentative. It had long been 
notorious in Ireland that the way to 
all the best judicial appointments, 
whether in the counties or the 
metropolis, lay across the hustings. 
Not by the study of law and equity, 
but by the most ample promises to 
priests, did the ambitious and 
astute barrister of the Four Courts 
seek to secure the higher rewards of 
his profession. Hardly a vacancy 
occurred in the whole country that 
a long-robed candidate did not 
present himself, with what intent 
was shrewdly conjectured, so that 
some constituencies at length gave 
notice, — * No barrister need apply.' 

To that feeling may also be 
attributed much of the support 
previously given to the convict 
Bossa. His opponent was u gen- 
tleman, however able in his 
profession, who had no interest in 
the county. At one time connected 
with Queen's College, Gkklway, he 
came forward on this occasion as 
the nominee of the priests, pledged 
to oppose in Parliament the principle 



1876] 



Remarks on a Recent Irish Election, 



235 



on wMch that College was founded. 
It was said, though I did not 
witness it, that on the nomination 
day, on the hustings, he sported a 
green cravat emblematic of Fenian 
opinions. But all such arts did not 
blind the electors. Despite the 
whole influence of the Catholic 
priesthood exerted in his favour, on 
that occasion he was signally de- 
feated. It is true that not more 
than a third of the constituency was 
actnally polled. The Conservatives 
almost to a man refrained from 
voting; and respectable farmers, 
e?en at the solicitation of their 
priests, refused to vote for either 
party. In proof of this assertion I 
may here record the following anec- 
dote. On the next market day after 
Rossa's return, in conversing with 
a substantial former who lives not 
above a mile from my own residence, 

I asked him, ' Well, Mr. , for 

whom did you vote .? * * Is it I ? * said 
He ; * I would not vote for either of 
the blackguards. I had a note that 

morning from Father (the P.P.), 

asking me to go to meet him, but I 
would not ^o the length of my foot 
for tiiat purpose.' And after a 
moment's reflection he added, * I 
think, afler all, it was better that 
Hofisa was returned, as Parliament 
will be more likely to do something 
for us formers,* — an astute pre- 
diction which subsequent events 
did not fail amply to confirm. And 
Bossa's return, at the time and 
since looked upon as so disgraceful 
^Tipperary, was, to all true Liberals 
conversant with the springs of the 
poHtical movement, a notable asser- 
tion, in civil matters, of religious 
freedom. 

No doubt that return was very 
much owing to the Fenian move- 
iBent, and implied, much more than 
Uitchers, a feeling of disaflection 
*o the British Government. Then 
that feeling was rife in the minds 
of our peasantry ; and it was all the 
more 80 as it bad recently sufiered an 
effeetual defeat. The leaders of the 



movement had been arrested and con- 
victed — and convicted too by men 
some of whom, it was felt, had 
attained to power and office by a 
like species of agitation, though 
agitation restrained within the 
limits of the law. Another candi- 
date was in the field, astute, eloquent, 
learned in the law, and severely con- 
stitutional in his professions, but 
who, it was thought, was seeking 
the suflrages of the electors merely 
for his own purposes. And Kossa's 
return was the defiant answer of 
Tipperary to a Government that had 
ever shown itself prompt to coerce 
its subjects, but slow to redress 
their admitted grievances. 

But, before Mitchel's return, this 
feeling had become, save it might 
be amongst the lower strata of the 
inhabitants of our towns, compara- 
tively extinct. A great measure of 
justice, securing to the electors the 
fruits of their own toil, had, years 
before, passed both Houses of Par- 
liament. The disposition to redress 
all real causes of complaint had 
been manifested. A Church had 
been deposed from her proud, but 
false position of ' national,* that had 
long been looked upon as the sym- 
bol of Britain's supremacy and 
Ireland's degradation. Many of 
the restless spirits that inhabited 
our towns, deprived of their usual 
grounds for agitation, had betaken 
themselves to other lands. The 
daily wages of our labourers had 
been nearly doubled. Evictions for 
non-payment of rent were com- 
paratively unheard of. In peace 
and quietness, as testified by our 
assizes, Tipperary had become a 
model county. And, on the 12 th of 
July, and other festivals of religious 
riot in the North, Government could 
withdraw a portion of its constabu- 
lary, and send them to preserve 
order in that locality. 

And to whose eflbrts to right 
their country might all this change 
be really traced ? To the men that 
had dared, in 1848, openly to pro- 



236 



Remarks 07i a Recent Irish Election, 



[Angust 



•claim thafc the state of Ireland was 
a disgrace to any Government ; 
that the starvation of the people 
was owing to its land laws ; that 
the first law of human society was 
the preservation of human life from 
hunger; and, where that law was 
made subservient to the . interests 
of the few, all bonds of allegiance 
were relaxed ; and who had, in con- 
sequence, risked capital punishment 
and undergone banishment. To the 
man especiaUy who did not hesi- 
tate to teach that the condition of 
Ireland was such, scourged as it had 
been by years of famine, seemingly 
without a prospect of redress, as to 
justify rebellion ; and who exposed 
himself to the vengeance of the laws, 
by openly instructing the people 
how they might best resist discip- 
lined troops. 

What was the state of Ireland 
when John Mitchel gave this — let 
it be granted — most injudicious 
counsel ? 

It has been alleged, in defence of 
the Government, that it did not 
cause the blight of the potato crop. 
True, it did not ; but, when the po- 
tato crop was gone, its laws did not 
permit the starving inhabitants to 
touch any other of the produce that 
their own hands had reared. Those 
laws gave to the landlord the power 
of distraint over the stock, crop, 
and every species of produce. In 
many cases, the cereal crops barely 
availed to meet the rent, taxes, and 
other necessary requirements. I 
have myself witnessed a process of 
distraint then customary — a keeper 
put upon the farmer when the 
crop was ripe ; that keeper kept 
there too often at the farmer's ex- 
pense till the crop was reaped, 
thrashed, and converted into money, 
which found its direct way into the 
landlord's pocket, the latter giving, 
as was frequently the case, a receipt 
only on account. On what, then, 
were such farmers and their fami- 
lies to live when the potatoes 
were taken from themr And 



might not the Gt)vemment, which 
enforced such laws under such 
circumstances, be justly charge- 
able with being accessory to the 
people's death ? It could not be 
alleged that there was not food 
really in the country to sustain all 
its inhabitants. During all our suf- 
fering, there was no cessation to the 
exportation to Great Britain of 
oats, flour, beef, pork, and mutton. 
Why did not the starving peasantry 
seize on these things — the produce 
of their own labour? Because 
they were guarded in safety, from 
our shores, by British troops. For 
many months, to my own know- 
ledge, the chief duty of the troops 
stationed in the assize town of Tip- 
perary was to guard the flour, on 
its transit from the mills, where 
ground, to its pla^^e of export. 

It is true the Government of the 
day relaxed the com laws, lent ua 
money to be foolishly squandered, 
on what were called public works, 
and facilitated, so far as they could , 
the introduction of Indian meal in. 
place of the lost potato. And. 
this Indian meal our peasantry, with 
little means to purchase it, econo- 
mically mixed with turnip-tops and 
the tender shoots of the young 
nettle, in order to preserve the dear 
life. But they did not forget that 
the oats and wheat their own hands 
had sown and reaped were mean- 
while feeding their fellow-subjects 
and their horses across the water, 
whilst its price had gone to embel- 
lish houses in the great city, and to 
enrich London or Parisian trades- 
men. Such was the state of our 
unfortunate country at the time. 
And the very Acts which our 
Legislature has then and since 
passed — the Upas-tree which a great 
statesman set himself so strenuously 
to uproot — prove suflRciently that 
Ireland then was not without her 
cruel grievances. 

The return of Mitchel, there- 
fore, as a member of that Legisla- 
ture that bad thus been compelled 



18751 



EeniarJcs on a Hcccni Irish Election. 



237 



to redress Ireland's wrongs was, in 
my judgment, no proof of present 
disloyalty, but a fit expression of 
national gratitude. That it meant 
no disaffection to the throne, nor 
even hostility to the sister country, 
is suflBciently proved by the cheer- 
fhl acquiescence of all parties — men 
second to none in loyalty. It was 
felt that under the altered circum- 
stances that election could do no 
liarm, even if John Mitchel were 
an unaltered man. For, however 
suspicious of the people those in 
authority may be, and may think it 
iheir duty to be, and however it 
may please a portion of our magis- 
tracy and press to minister to those 
suspicions, tainted by the Orange 
spirit of the North, my own firm con- 
viction is that not a hundred John 
Mitchels now, with pens a hundred 
I times more eloquent than that of 
the editor of the United Irishman^ 
that once moved the hearts of our 
populace as the winds move the 
waves, would be able to stir up a 
^gerous ripple on our social sur- 
fece. 

But why, it may be asked, if the 
constituency wished to be repre- 
sented in the British Parliament, — 
wHy, especially after its experience 
in the Kossa case, did it elect a man 
who had been convicted of treason- 
felony, and whose offence, it was 
well known, had neither been 
purged nor pardoned ? True, the 
constituency knew that John Mit- 
chel'g offence had not been par- 
doned, but they did think that it 
bad been condoned. Less than 
twelve months previously he had 
been in the country. His presence 
on that occasion had not been kept 
a secret fiK)m the Government. The 
public press announced it openly. 
He had gone from south to north, 
*nd from north to south — through 
Dublin itself, where his presence 
bad once caused- so much commo- 
tion — passing and repassing under 
tbe very walls of the Castle, the 
seat of her Majesty's representa- 



tive ; and yet no hostile hand was 
laid on him. Irishmen rejoiced 
that twenty-five years had so utterly 
obliterated past asperities. Many 
acknowledgmeuts of error on the 
part of English statesmen had been 
uttered in the meantime. Many 
remedial measures in attestation of 
those acknowledgments had been 
liberally passed. His immunity 
from arrest was farther looked on 
as a confirmation of those acknow- 
ledgments. It was considered as 
an ample proof that the tomahawk 
had been buried. It so happened 
that, a few months after an elec- 
tion, Tipperary found herself in 
want of a representative. She 
had determined to have done with 
all nominees of priests. She wanted 
no learned barrister to advocate 
her cause, for his own benefit. 
None of her landed gentry seemed 
at the time ambitious of the honour. 
Her thoughts reverted to him who 
had been for so long an exile from 
his country, and who had so re- 
cently visited it. His name had 
been mentioned on the occasion of 
a vacancy some years before, but 
it had not been pressed, as it was 
then supposed it would subject him 
to arrest. SuflBce it to say, that 
John Mitchel was asked if he 
would accept the post, the question 
being prompted by the change of 
circumstances. And on his sig- 
nifying compliance, he was unani- 
mously elected, even before he had 
touched our shores, or had any 
opportunity of explaining his views 
to his constituents. 

What then was the surprise of 
the electors when the man's name 
alone seemed to strike with terror 
the British Legislature ! The First 
Minister of the Crown, with un- 
dignified haste, informed by tele- 
gram, and not awaiting the usual 
routine of the writ's return, moved 
the Commons that the doors be 
shut in the 'felon's' face! The 
men of Tipperary had fondly hoped 
that it would have been otherwise. 



238 



Remarlcs on a Becent Irish Election, 



[August 



Thej had believed that confessions 
of error made on that floor had 
been more sincere, and that after 
the lapse of five-and-twenty years, 
as in the case of others who had 
once made themselves amenable 
to the laws, the man of their choice 
would have been quietly allowed 
to take his place, if it so pleased 
him. Such was the feeling of all 
parties, whether Whig, Conserva- 
tive, or Home Ruler, if the pre- 
sence of all at the rejoicings sub- 
sequent to the election, and the 
peace and harmony that pervaded 
the assemblage, be any testimony. 
But such a miUennium was not to 
be permitted. Old feelings were 
again to be rekindled by the First 
Minister of the Crown. And what- 
ever could be done to resuscitate 
past enmity, and confer on Mitchel 
his former influence, was done by 
Mr. Disraeli. It may be that he 
considered he was but doing his 
duty to her Majesty. It may be 
that he was only enforcing the law. 
But even granting this, there are 
cases in which it is more dignified 
and sensible not to enforce it. And 
surely such a course would have 
been more dignified on the part of 
the Minister of a great country 
than to act so as to endanger the 
peace by arousing the long-sup- 
pressed feelings of hostility. That 
he did not succeed, he may thank 
the wisdom of his predecessor, and 
the altered circumstances his legis- 
lation had produced.^ 

But it will be asked why, when 
Mr. Mitchel was excluded by the 
House of Commons, was he again 
by so great a majority elected ? 
In reply, the electors of Tipperary 
might fairly plead the historical 
precedent of the electors of Mid- 
dlesex, who persisted again and 
again in returning the expelled and 
outlawed Wilkes — a character not 
for a moment to be compared in 



honour or in honesty with the 
exiled Mitchel. I do not plead, 
however, that they were influenced 
by such a precedent, as most of 
them, it so happens, are not much 
versed in history. But they do 
know something of electoral rights. 
There are none so ignorant as not 
to know how the House of Com- 
mons is constituted. And they 
could not understand why a House, 
each member of which sat by the 
votes of his constituents, and a 
Government that derived its powers 
from those members, should hasten 
to exclude their chosen repre- 
sentative. They had heard much 
of the power of the people. They 
had read much, both in the native 
and English press (for aU electors 
of Tipperary are politicians) of a 
late Continental monarch influencing 
voters on occasions of a plebiscite. 
They knew how English statesmen 
professed to lament the want in 
other countries of what is under- 
stood in this by constitutional 
government; and it did seem 
strange to them that statesmen, 
making such professions, and them- 
selves ruling by the popular will, 
should strive to coerce them in 
their freedom of election. Had 
Tipperary formed a part of Russia, 
Spain, or even Austria, doubtless 
they would have claimed no such 
freedom. But forming a part of 
the constituency of this great king- 
dom, where the representative 
principle is so jealously guarded, 
they did imagine they might send 
to Parliament the man of their own 
choice, who, if expatriated once, 
had so lately been permitted to 
return in freedom. On the occasion 
of John Mitchells second return, 
all the more intelligent electors 
felt bound to act in vindication of 
that freedom secured to them by 
the constitution. On that occasion 
he received support from those 



' [It would evidently have been impossible for the Premier to have refrabed from 
action. The only question is as to the mode of his procedure. — Ed.] 



1875] 



BemarJi's on a Becent Irish JUlectioti. 



239 



who did not actively sanction his 
first election, lest its true meaning 
might be misinterpreted. Many de- 
precated a revival of feelings that 
might imply renewed hostility to 
England, though they cordially 
acquiesced in the desire to do 
honour to the exile. These stood 
aloof on the first occasion. But 
when they deemed liberty of elec- 
tion to be assailed in the very 
house of its friends, they hesitated 
no longer to record their votes. 

But still, it will be asked, why 
throw away their votes when they 
were distinctly warned, as has since 
been proved on the trial of the pe- 
tition, that John Mitchel was ' an 
alien.' It is true they were told so 
on the authority of an attorney and 
the opposing candidate, who had 
exhibited sharp practice on the no- 
mination day by getting his name 
prapoaed only at the last legal 
miniite ; but it did not follow that 
they were to take such authority 
as decisive. They were all aware 
that John Mitchel had been bom 
and educated in Ireland. So far 
from deeming him an * alien,' they 
IumL esteemed him, like so many of 
her sons in '98 and preceding ages 
who had found it * treason to love 
their country, and death to defend,' 
*8 peculiarly racy of the soil. Of 
the ex^posUfado Act of 1870, by 
which he was declared a * statutory 
*lieii,' they had not even heard till 
the trial of the petition. The first 
law-oflBcers of the Crown had ex- 
pressed doubts in the House of Com- 
mons as to the power of the Go- 
▼eniment to treat him as a * felon.' 
Were Tipperary electors to bg sup- 
posed to be more conversant than 
these with the laws that attached 
disability to candidates ? Or is it 
to be wondered at that they per- 
sisted in their choice, from no mo- 
tives of disloyalty, but from a most 
praiseworthy desire to assert the 
great principle of constitutional 
light in maintaining their electoral 
liberty ? 



It cannot be denied that so soon 
as the judge decided that they 
were legally at fault, they bowed 
to his decision unmurmuringly. 
Though the law-officer of the Crown 
on whom the lot fell to try the va- 
lidity of the election was not the 
most popular with a Soatheru con- 
stituency, there was no excitement 
either in the town or court, no 
offensive language heard, much less 
was there any disturbance of the 
peace, during the local trial of the 
case. In going and returning from 
court during the two or three 
days that hearing occupied, no mo- 
lestation — not a word of insult, so 
far as I heard of — was offered to 
the opposing candidate. This state- 
ment, I am sure, our present mem- 
ber. Captain Moore, will be most 
ready to confirm. In this respect 
the so-called * rebellious ' Tipperary 
may be fevourably compared with 
many other counties and shires in 
her Majesty's dominions where the 
popular candidate has been de* 
feated. We had torchlight pro- 
cessions in John Mitchel's honour, 
orderly and well conducted. There 
were thousands assembled from the 
neighbouring towns ; thousands 
crowded into the narrowest space 
to listen to the speeches, many sub- 
jected to the greatest pressure; 
there were members of all creeds 
and parties interspersed among the 
throng; and yet not a single unkind 
word, not an instance of rude treat- 
ment, no necessity for the police, 
but the utmost good-humour and 
disposition to oblige. Under such 
circumstances it did pain many of 
us electors, not more wanting in 
due loyalty to the Crown than most 
high-born Englishmen, to read the 
galling attacks that were made 
upon us in the English press. 
But the peaceful attitude of the 
county under political defeat gave 
a satisfactory uiiswer to such cen- 
sures. 

With all her faults, therefore, an 
Irishman finds no cause to blush 



240 



Remarks on a Recent Irish Election, 



[August 



for the recent action of his * premier 
county.* Wild and reckless her 
inhabitants often were, when op- 
pressive laws had driven them to 
the very borders of despair. Their 
gratitude to the exile had reference 
only to the past. In no light could 
it be regarded as *a keen sense 
of future favours.* Besides, John 
Mitchel was in no respect connected 
with Tipperary, either by birth, 
by personal connection, or by reli- 
gion. Bom and educated amidst 
the sturdy independence of Northern 
industry, bis mind emancipated 
from local prejudices by highly in- 
telligent parents and a liberal course 
of education, his only bond of union 
with the Southern peasantry was 
his ardent assertion of human rights, 
and his stem indignation against, 
oppression. To the credit of that 
peasantry be it said, it has never 
made the religion of a candidate 
any bar to his election. At the 
last general election the members 
for Tipperary were two Protestants. 
On a previous occasion it ousted a 
most estimable Roman Cathohc 
gentleman for one of them. On 
the late occasion it had become 
known that John Mitchel belonged 
to a sect that, like the first Chris- 
tians, * were everywhere spoken 
against ;' and a paragraph also went 
the round of the papers stating, 
that to a deputation of some busy- 
bodies in some town in America 
who had been sent to * interview* 
him and ask him his religion, he 
had (of course sarcastically) replied 
that he belonged to the old and 
respectable community of Pagans; 
and political capital was thought 
to be made of such statements ; 
and in one instance an elector was 
asked would he support a man 
who was at best a Unitarian. But 
the reply was, conveying a just 
rebuke of Conservative bigotry, 



* I care not whether he be " Turk, 
Jew, or Atheist,'* * I only know 
that he is an honest man.' In this 
respect, therefore, and especially 
when we compare this freedom 
from bigotry on the part of Tip- 
perary electors with the insane riots 
that take place annually in the 
North of Ireland betwixt Protestant 
and Catholic, may we not claim it 
as a merit in the ' premier county ' ? 

On the whole, the writer cannot 
but regard the action of the Gro- 
vemment in the case of the late 
Tipperaiy election as a mistake on 
the part of Mr. Disraeli. As to 
being alarmed at it, he, as the head 
of the State under her Majesty, 
should have known better the true 
feelings and peaceable disposition 
of the great majority of the electors 
of this county, Had there been 
cause for alarm the Government 
action only tended to cherish and 
augment the hostility. If allowed 
to pass unnoticed, the whole matter 
would only have been wonder of 
an hour, that John Mitchel was 
now, like his friend John Martin, 
actually a member of the British 
Legislature. If a felon, why did 
not the Government dare to treat 
him as a felon ? But his ' felony ' 
was a matter of twenty-five years 
past, de factoy if not de jurcy purged 
by so many years of enle, and now 
atoned for on the part of Britain 
by her altered legislation, her con- 
fession of past errors, and redress 
of crying wrongs. Again, was it 
dignified on the part of the Gt)vem- 
ment to pursue with its hostility 
one who had no longer power to 
annoy ? 

To anyone who looked into John 
Mitchel's face after his return to 
his country, it was plainly visible 
that Death had set his seal upon 
him ; that a seat in the House of 
Conmions, even if so disposed, he 



' On the bridge that once gave entrance to the borough of Bandon, in the county Cork, 
was this inscription: — 'Turk, Jew, or Atheist may enter here, but not a Papist;' and 
this in the midst of a Boman Catholic population. 



1875] 



Bemarks on a Recent L'lsh Election, 



241 



would never occupy ; that a re-^ 
presflntatiye of any constituency he 
would soon cease to be ; and that, 
even were the circumstances of the 
country unaltered, he had no longer 
the physical energy to annoy. It was 
undignified statesmanship to pit the 
British Oovemment, on the great 
public arena of Europe and America, 
against a man who was only the 
shadow of his former self ; who 
could do no injury, save to his own 
character, by an injudicious policy ; 
and who, in returning to Ireland, 
was in &ct but fulfilling the law of 
the great craving of our humanity 
—to come home to die, and lay his 
bones with the ashes of his fathers. 
Let it be observed, too, that there 
was no little pettiness in the method 
of the contest ; for the discussion in 
the House of Commons, and in the 
press also, was not so much as to 
the legality of his election, as a 
heaping up of old reproaches as to 
his * felony,* the revival of the old 
Btory as to his supposed breach of 
parole in Tasmania, his former ad- 
vice to the Irish peasantry how best 
by hand-grenade and vitriol bottles 
to resist disciplined troops, and, 
in short, a free use of epithets 
and abuse instead of argument. 
No impartial Irishman, none at 
feast conversant with the state of 
matters in the South, could for a 
moment doubt that the condition of 
our populace was such as fully 
to justify rebellion against landlord- 
law, upheld by British power, had 
there been a rational prospect of 
snecess. Even before the potato 
famine it was testified by Lord 
Devon in his commission to en- 
qnire into the state of Ireland, that 
*if the Ulster tenant-right were 
tampered with, the Horse Guards 
bad not sufficient force at their 
disposal to preserve the peace.' 
And had Munster been peopled by 
the peasantry of Down and Antrim, 
the strife at Ballingarry would have 
proved no such contemptible fiasco, 
and the agitation of John Mitchel 

VOL. XIL — HO. LXVni. NEW SERIES. 



have borne different fruit. These 
were not the men to shut themselves 
and their families up in their houses 
and starve in silence, when they 
saw the dear food borne from their 
doors. But Ulstermen were kept 
aloof and blind to the true state of 
afiairs by fostering the religious 
prejudice. Arms were supplied to 
Northern Orangemen, and they 
were called on to stand &st by the 
Queen and Constitution against 
Romanist disloyalty, though Mit- 
chel, Davis, O'Brien, and many 
more were Protestants. The 
peasantry of the South, ground 
down by ages of oppression, had lost 
the true attributes of manhood, and 
were little more than serfs. And 
John MitcheVs great mistake was 
that he thought he had men to 
influence of a like sturdy indepen- 
dence with himself — men who 
would look their enemies in 
the face, and not skulk secretly 
to shoot from behind a ditch. And 
this great misconception of the 
character of his countrymen ren- 
dered — as it was obvious from the 
first — all his exertions futile, and 
consigned himself to exile. 

For one. reason, at least, however, 
should the friends of John Mitchel 
be deeply thankful to Mr. Disraeli, 
and that is because he conferred the 
most fitting apotheosis on his life 
by pursuing him to the death with 
the hatred of the British Grovern- 
ment. Had he been let alone, and 
life been spared him, in the natural 
order of things he must speedily 
have fallen from his high position 
of public notoriety. In the altered 
circumstances of his country, which 
his long absence from it disenabled 
him to appreciate, he might soon 
have injured his own popularity by 
an injudicious policy. No starva- 
tion now existed in this portion of 
the empire, nor had any grievous 
wrong beenleft unredressed through 
which he could have excited popular 
indignation. He repudiated Home 
Rule in its modem acceptation ; and 



Setaarki &. 



9 RecAnA Irish EleetUm. 



[A 



certainly no intelligent section of 
his conntrjTnen wonld now have 
joined him in hia demand for sepa- 
ration. Hiskindlineaa of heart, nig 
■ amiabilitf of diapo^tion, so won* 
derftillj attractiTe to all who knew 
him, mnst have secured him friends 
to the last hour of his life ; bnt as 
a public character I believe he wonld 
haye foand himself a forsaken and 
disappointed man. But, let na 
be jnat even to hia enemies — from 
that position death and Mr. Disraeli 
saved him. Seldom if ever have 
hnman remains been deposited in 
the tomb amidst a coontrj's deeper, 
more affectionate, and universal re- 
grets. Long will that tomb be 
honoured in the minds of onr pea- 



santry, few of whom ever l 
npon his face, as the last re 
place of one who tmly love 
country ; and he himself won 
gard it as his noblest epitap] 
he had incurred England's 1 
even unto death. 

Let future generations o 
countrymen, while they honot 
integrity, learn to bury in his 
those resentments which his 
tory would unhappily perpel 
and let our rulers learn, ho 
late, to nnderstand that a 
tribnte to a fellow-conn tiy 
sincerity does not necessarily 
danger to the constitution o 
lovalty to the throne. 

J. 




243 



ARMIN, THE LIBERATOR OF GERMANY. 



gust the :r6tli, a great 
ive gathering will be held 
DGbold, at the unveiling of 
3al statue of Arminius, or 
, ^ the Deliverer of Germany 
Roman yoke. In the 
he Teutoburg Forest — on 
of a lofty hill, surrounded 
and fir- wood — stands the 

this national hero, on a 

sdestal : with a foot placed 

igle of a Roman legion ; 

raised sword in his right 

he hill rises to an emi- 

1,300 feet. The enor- 
itue itself towers some 
t high. It is turned 
the Rhine : a doubly 
t position in our days ! 
vide will it be visible — as 
ic Drachenfels, famed by 
s mythic struggle ; as far as 
cen, the traditionary seat 
beathen witchcraft. Thirty- 
have passed since Ernst 
el, the patriotic sculptor, 
-he work has been a labour 
onceived the idea of this 
mument. Now, at last, 
Bandel's unflagging zeal 
fetime, the gigantic Statue 
' iron, and screwed together 
sral parts — is finished : a 
le memento of the famed 
vhich the legions of Varus 
hilated, about the year 9 of 

in try all round the Groten- 
ir which the monument 
replete with myth and 
^he whole mountain-range 
I name ('Osning*) that 
3k remembrances of early 
worship. There are 
n/je — Giant Circles — mys- 



terious remnants of large stone- 
structures. There are woods and 
homesteads which, if the antiquity 
of their names could be proved, 
would show an unbroken link of 
tradition with the very days of the 
Teutoburg Battle. In more thaii 
one sense is the ground between 
the Weser and the Rhine strangely 
hallowed. In the Osning stood 
the Irmin-sul, or Irmin's Coltunn, 
which Karl the Great destroyed in 
his struggle against the Saxons. 
That popular rhyme in Low German 
speech, which is yet current : 

Hennen! slaDermen; 
SJ-a Fipen ; sla Trummen ! 
Be Keiser will Jcumen 
Met Hamer un Stangen, 
Will Her men uphangen — 

is by some referred back, not to the 
contest against Witukind, but to 
that against Armin or Hermann him- 
self. Not far from the scene of the 
great battle — in the cloister of Kor- 
vei — ^there were found, for the first 
time, in the sixteenth century, those 
Annals of Tacitus which contain a 
graphic record of Armin's deeds. 
Again, in the Abbey of Verden, 
at the end of the same century, 
the Gothic translation of the Bil]ie 
byUlfilas was discovered — the oldest 
record of German speech. Truly, 
in Massmann's words, a trilogy of 
things full of Teutonic interest ! 

A most romantic career that of 
the Cheruskian Chieftain was, who 
wrought the signal victory. As a 
youth, he had learnt the art of war 
among his country's foes ; was 
placed at the head of a legion of 
German auxiliaries ; and by his 
valour, perhaps on Danubian battle- 
fields in Pannonia (Hungary), 



Klern rendering of Arminius by ' Hermann,* though generally accepted, is 
error. More likely is the connection of that na me with Irmin (Anglo- 
men-; Old Norse: lormun-). It may, in Simrock's opinion, simply have 
ommon leader of the Cheruskian League — even as Irmin was perhaps a com- 
[k1 of allied German tribes. Dio Cassius writes the name : 'Apfilyios ; Strabo: 



S 2 



244 



Arming the Liberator of Germany. 



[ 



obtained Boman citizenship and the 
rank of a knight. The Romans that 
saw him describe him as coming 
from a noble stock; strong and 
brave ; of quick perception, and 
of penetrating judgment — more so 
than might be expected from a 
* barbarian' (uUraharbarwm promp' 
Hu8 ingenio). The ardour of his 
mind was said to glow from his 
fiEkce and from the glance of his 
eyes. He was the son of Segimer 
. — in modern German : Siegmar — 
a Gheruskian leader. Armin*s wife, 
whose name we leaiii from a Greek 
source, was Thusnelda ;* originally 
betrothed against her will to another 
chieftain, but secretly carried off 
by her daring swain, between 
whom and his father-in-law, Segest, 
there was thenceforth a deadly feud. 
In those days, it was the en- 
deavour of the Bomans, after 
they had conquered Gaul, and gra- 
dually come up from the Danubian 
side, to subject also the country 
between the Rhine and the Elbe. 
A hundred thousand of their sol- 
diers kept watch and ward along 
the Rhine : one half of them sta- 
tioned between Mainz and Bonn; 
the other half between Koln and 
Xanten, and down to the very shores 
of the German Ocean. Pushing 
forward from the Rhine in an east- 
em direction, they succeeded in 
establishing, near the Lippe, a strong 
fort, called Aliso — probably what is 
now Else, near Paderborn. Drusus 
even ventured with an expedition 
as far as the Elbe ; but, terrified by 
the weird appearance of a gigantic 
Teuton prophetess, who foretold his 
approaching death, he returned, and 
soon afterwards died through being 
thrown from his horse. Armin's 
merit it is, by his triumph in the 
Teutoburg Forest, and by a struggle 
carried on for years afterwards, 
to have freed this north-western 



region, and thus, step by e 
have driven back the ever-en 
ing Latin power. 

It was under the Empei 
gustus that Quinctilius Yar 
former Quaestor in Syri 
had, in that capacity, pul 
a Jewish insurrection witl 
cruelty — was sent to the 
Rhine to complete the c 
ment of the German tribes 
A man of sybaritic tastei 
had entered Syria poor, a 
it loaded with riches, 
distinguished by a stat< 
wisdom ; but apt to cha 
chieftains of a simple 
into submission to a seducti 
lisation. This Sardanapak 
small scale, whilst exerting 
to morally fetter and corr 
leaders, rode rough-shod o 
people ; disregarding their 
customs ; dispensing Rom 
like a praetor ; making tin 
tongue resound near the Che 
homesteads as the language 
administration and of the tr 
His aim was, to push the w 
Roman dominion into th 
heart of Germany. The o 
of Drusus was to be carried o 
lictor*s fasces wei^ to be pron 
from the Rhine to the Elbe. 

Of the German chieflainj 
with Varus as a means of infl 
the surrounding tribes, 
Segimer, and Segest were tl 
prominent — the latter a i 
adherent of Roman rule ; t 
former, as events proved 
patriots at heart. Young 
then but twenty-five years 
became the soul of the i 
conspiracy for the overthrow? 
foreign yoke. Segest, his 
in-law, who afterwards bo 
so deep a grudge because 
nelda had become Armin 
in spite of the patema 



* Thusnelda* 8 namo has been variously interpreted. The explanation given 
means 'A Thousand Graces' (Tausendhold), is no doubt a mistaken one. Othe 
suggested ' Thursinhiid/ which would give a martial, Bellona-like meaning of tl 



Armtn^ the Liberator of Oermany. 



24S 



excluded from the se- 
otic council. Soon get- 
dver, an inkling of the 
igs, Segestyhj denouncing 
arus, very nearly brought 
9 failure of the whole 
. On the eve of the out- 
m earnest of his fidelity 
>mans, he even asked to 
in chains, together with 
I the other German leaders, 
*uth would become patent. 
ly, Varus disbelieved the 
krning. Under cover of 
)me auxiliaries for the 
f an alleged insurrection, 
8 enabled to depart, and 
it himself at the head of 
al rifling. 

had the young Cherus- 
of the superior armament 
ilitary science of the Ro- 
> well was he acquainted 
difficulties of meeting at 
he same time their excel- 
ke organisation and the 
they derived from the 
: German, Graulish, and 
ps in their pay, for him 
his plan cautiously, so as 
Q, to some extent, these 
kdvantages of the hostile 
is design therefore was, to 
s into the depths of the 
?eutoburg Forest. By a 
stratagems he folly sue- 
this. 

nan Governor, at the head 
ions, encambered with a 
I of baggage, was made 
, ground where at every 
learance had to be ef- 
:h the axe; where thick 
^rrow gorges, impetuous 
)ks offered numberless ob- 
d the swampy soil often 
ppery from torrents of rain, 
ispired, on this memorable 

render the terrors of the 

1 more ghastly. A tem- 
inusual fierceness broke 
*imeval forest, when Varus 



stuck in the middle of the thicket. 
Mountain -spates inundated the 
ground. Trees of enormous age 
fell, shaken by the storm and struck 
by the lightning. The roar of 
thunder smothered the cries of 
those that staggered under the 
weight of falling branches. In short 
intervals, the blue zigzag light of 
heaven lit up the mysterious re- 
cesses of the wood, only to fill the 
minds of the Roman soldiers with 
greater fear when, in thq next mo- 
ment, all was dark again. At last, 
a glimpse of sun shone through 
the dark forest. Then, of a sudden, 
the encircling hills resounded with 
the terrific war-cries of the Ger- 
mans who barred every issue, 
compelling their foe to a contest 
in which military science went for 
nothing. 

We know that the (Germans of 
that time, though a nation of 
warriors, g^ven to continued war- 
like practice, and tolerably advanced 
also in several branches of industry, 
were armed in a very poor way. 
Few wore a helmet, or harness. 
Not many even had good swords ; 
the quality of the iron used being 
such that, after a few strokes, it 
easily bent. Their shields, of great 
size, were made of thin wicker- 
work, or of wood, not even covered 
with iron or leather ; but painted 
over with figures — the only oma« 
ment they used in their war-array. 
The infantry and cavalry alike car- 
ried a shield and a number of short 
spears, which could be thrown, or 
used for hand-to-hand fight. The 
first ranks of their infiE^ntry used 
lances of gpreat length. The hind 
ranks had only short wooden 
spears, the pointe of which were 
hardened in the fire ;' and not tipped 
with iron. In a regular attack the 
Germans massed their forces in 
wedge-shape; but by preference 
they fought in loose order, eaoh 
man displaying his gymnastic agi- 



* SAe the speech of Germanicus, in Tacitus' AnnaU, ii. 14. 



246 



Armin, the Liberator of Oermany, 



[Augast 



lity, of which Roman writers 
have noted down some remarkable 
instances. The more well-to-do 
among those far- or linen-clad 
Teutonic warriors wore tight soits, 
which seemed to hamper them 
in fighting. When their blood was 
up, they therefore often put aside 
their upper garments, rushing into 
battle in true Berserker style — 
singing their wild heroic songs. 
Such was the foe that Varus had 
to meet. 

I rapidly pass over the details of 
the Teutoburg Battle — how a hail 
of short spears and arrows came 
down firom the hill-sides upon the 
troops of Varus ; how, after a carnage, 
they gained an open space, and 
hurriedly erected a fortified camp ; 
how, having burnt many of the 
vehicles and less necessary imple- 
ments, they continued their march, 
but were once more led into thick 
woods, when a new massacre 
occurred — the foot soldiery and 
the horse being wedged together in 
helpless confusion. For three days 
the attacks were resumed. The third 
day brought the crowning misery of 
the Romans. Many cast away their 
weapons. Varus, in despair, threw 
himself on his sword, and died. Of 
the Prefects, Lucius Eggius bravely 
defended himself to the last. His 
colleague, Cejonius, surrendered. 
Vala Numonius, the legate, was 
killed in an attempted flight. 
Caldus Caelius, made prisoner, beat 
his own brains out with the chains 
with which he was manacled. Three 
legions were destroyed. Two eagles 
fell into Grerman hands. A third 
eagle was saved from them by the 
banner-bearer, who covered it with 
his belt, and trod it into the morass. 
The rear- guard, led by Lucius As- 
prenas, the nephew of Varus, fled 
towards the Rhine, and was able 
yet to restrain the populations on 
the other side of the river from 
lisiiig in rebellion against Roman 
rule. 

On hearing of the disaster, Au- 



gustus pushed his head against the 
wall, and exclaimed : * Varus ! Varus ! 
give me back my legions !* Such 
was the fear of a new invasion of Teu- 
tons and Kimbrians that allGrermans 
were removed from Rome, even 
the Emperor's bodyguard ; the city 
was placed in a state of defence; 
and the Imperator, letting his hair 
and beard grow as a sign of dejec- 
tion, vowed to Jupiter a temple and 
solemn games, if he would grant 
better fortune to the Commonwealth. 
Tiberius, then at the head of the 
army in Pannonia, was in all haste 
recalled for the better security of 
Rome. 

This great Teutoburg Battle had 
freed the land between the Lower 
Rhine and the Weser ; bat no ad- 
vantage was taken of the victory 
by the much-divided German tribes. 
A few years afterwards, the Romans 
were enabled to make a sudden 
attack upon the Marsians (near 
Osnabriick), during a nocturnal fes- 
tival of that German tribe. On the 
occasion of this raid, the famous 
Tanfana temple was destroyed, the 
name of which has given so much 
trouble to archaeologists, and which 
was one of the few temples the 
forest-worshipping Germans pos- 
sessed. Osnabriick, like the Osning 
range of hills, no doubt derives its 
name from the Asen, Osen, or Aesir, 
the Teutonic gods: so that there 
was probably a great sanctuary in 
that neighbourhood, similar to the 
one on Heligoland (Holy Land), or 
perhaps in the isle of Riigen. 

Another unexpected raid was ef- 
fected by young Germanicus, five 
years afber the Teutoburg Battle, 
into Chattian (Hessian) territoiy. 
Most probably he crossed the Rhine 
near Mainz ; followed the road to- 
wards what is nowHomburg; thenoe 
to the country where Giesaen and 
Marburg now are, which latter may 
be what the Roman and Greek au- 
thors called Mattium and Marriai.*^y. 
Others believe Mattium to be the 
present Maden, near Oadesberg. 



Armin^ the Lihei'oior of Oerman/y. 



247 



iing to their cruel practice, 
omans, during this inroad, 
red or killed all that were 
eless on account of age or 
The German youth had en- 
ired to offer resistance by 
aing over the river Adrana 
ntly the Edder of to-day), 
ying to prevent the erection 
bridge ; but, received by a 
r of arrows and spears, they 
iriven back into the forests, 
turning fi'om their expedition, 
►mans destroyed Mattium, the 
place of the Chattians, and 
ated the fields. So • Tacitus 
If relates, 
n afterwards we come upon a 

incident in Armin*s career, 
bher-in-law, Segest, compelled 
I people^s voice to side with 
itional cause, had once more 
I traitor. After having suc- 
l for a time in capturing and 
g chains upon the Liberator, 
b was, in his turn, beleaguered 
B stronghold, with a great 
of his blood relations and foU 
J. Among the noble women 
i fort was his own daughter, 
lelda, of whom he seems to 
pt possession during this in- 
ine warfare. Pressed hard by 
jaiegers, Segest, by a secret 
ge, asked the Roman general 
ng relief. Segest's own son, 
lund, who once had been or- 
l as a priest among the Ro- 
in Graul, but who in the year of 
sat rising had torn the priestly 
ia from his forehead, and gone 
to the * rebels,' was made, 
ft his own conscience, to 
the father's message to the 
us. In this way relief came, 
Bgest was freed. But Thus- 
was led into Roman capti- 
> having more of her hus- 
I, than of her father's, spirit ; 
3ved to tears ; not of imploring 

her hands folded under her 
; her eyes glancing down on 
[iregnant body ' (gramdum 
I iniuens). 



Stepping forth — a man of great 
personal beauty, and of towering 
height, — the very image of a proud 
German warrior, yet a renegade to 
his fatherland — Segest held forth 
in a speech which Tacitus has pre- 
served. In it, an attempt is niade 
to rebut the charge of unfaithful- 
ness to his country ; the traitor as- 
suming the part of a mediator be- 
tween the Romans and the Germans 
— if the latter would prefer repent- 
ance to perdition. The speech, in 
which Segest prides himself on his 
Roman citizenship, conferred upon 
him by the ' divine Augustus,' and 
in which he accuses Armin of being 
* the robber of his daughter, the 
violator of the alliance with the 
Romans,' winds up with a prayer 
for an amnesty to his son Segi- 
mund. With regard to Thusnelda, 
the heartless father added the cold 
remark that she had to be brought 
by force before the Roman General, 
and that he may * judge which cir- 
cumstance ought by preference to 
be taken into account-— whether the 
fact of her being pregnant by Armin, 
or the fact of her being his own 
(Segest's) offspring.' 

The Romans went, in their judg- 
ment, by the former circumstance, 
and carried Thusnelda to Ravenna, 
a place of banishment for many of 
their state-prisoners. It seems that 
afterwards she had to reside at 
Rome. Pining away under the 
Italian sky, she gave birth to a son, 
of the name of Thumelicus, who was 
educated at Ravenna. A * mocking 
fate,' Tacitus says, befel afterwards 
this son of Armin. Unfortunately, 
the book containing the record is 
lost. A German drama, written 
some years ago, about the real au- 
thorship of which there has been 
much contest, but which is no 
doubt by Friedrich Halm, has for 
its theme the assumed ^Eite of 
Thumelik. It is called Der Feckter 
von Rav&ima — * The Gladiator of 
Ravenna' — and made considerable 
stir. 



248 



Armm, the Liberator of Germany, 



TIiTisiielda's mififorfcnne forms the 
Bubject of a splendid canvas of vast 
dimensions by Professor Piloty, of 
Mnnich. It represents her as being 
led along in a triumphal entry of 
Roman soldiers before the Emperor 
Tiberius. At the Vienna Exhibi- 
tion, last year, this powerful picture 
created a deep impression. We 
know that in the triumph of Ger- 
manicus, Thusnelda figured with her 
little son, then three years old. 
Together with her, there were her 
brother Segimund ; the Chattian 
priest Libys ; Sesithak, the son of 
the Cheruskian chief Aegimer, and 
his wife Hramis, the daughter of 
the Chattian chieftain IJkromer; 
Deudorix (Theodorich, or Dietrich), 
a brother of the Sigambrian chief- 
tain Melo ; and various other 
German captives. Even Segest 
had to show himself before the Ro- 
man populace, in order to swell the 
triumph. There are sculptures ex- 
tant which G<)ttling thinks can be 
recognised as contemporary images 
of Thusnelda and Thumelik ; 
Armin's wife being represented 
as wrapped up in melancholy 
thoughts. 

The statue of what is supposed 
to be a representation of Thusnelda 
is above life-size. It stands at 
Florence, in the Loggia de* Lanzi, 
Casts of it are at Rome and at 
Dresden. Gottling regards it as 
the work of the sculptor E^leomenes, 
from Athens. The statue has the 
German dress, as described by 
Tacitus; the flowing hair of Ger- 
man women of old ; and the 
peculiar shoes, which we know to 
have been worn by Franks and 
Longobards, and even later by the 



German people in the Midd 
That which Millin, Tolk< 
Thiersch consider a sraalh 
sentation of Thusnelda, Tl 
and some of the other pris 
German icus* triumph — in tl 
de la Sainie Chapelle at 
Gottling does not recognise 
In the British Museum 
Antiquities, No. 43) there i 
which the same author loo 
as that of Thumelik ; * bu 
believe to be a most im] 
guess. 

I may mention here also 
Teutoburg Battle, during 
Varus ran upon his own 
has been the subject of 
poetical attempts ; for inst 
Klopstock and Grabbe. 1 
von Kleist's drama. Die He 
Schlacht, was written mo 
sixty years ago, at the time 
many's deepest degradatioi 
Napoleon ruled supreme, 
who also died from his oy\ 
never had the satisfaction o 
his play even in print ; m 
on the stage. It is, howev€ 
acted at present at Berlii 
great display of scenic effect 
of the best German archae 
having lent their aid to g 
most faithful and correct r 
tation of the costumes, ar 
habitations of the early '! 
race. The run of the pi 
the theatre is stated to su 
previous experience. 

But to return to Armin's 
ments. After Thusnelda hi 
into the hands of the Rod 
see her valiant husband, wi 
energy, at work to rouse t 
man tribes. The thought 



* The name of Thumelictis somewhat bafiSes etymologists. It has been ex 
' Tommlich ;' from tvmmeln — to run about qnickJy, or to be active and bustlini 
it would mean Swift or Nimble. Born in captivity, Thumelicus became by law 
slave ; and Thymelicus was a frequent slave's name, referring to the perfor 
such slaves in the Thymele (8v/acA.7}), the open theatrical place. I would 
observe that Strabo gives the name of Armin's son not as Thymelikos, but Th 
{eoufi€\uc6s)f T7hich he would certainly not have done, had he, as a Greek, co 
witli the lliymele. Strabo probably saw, as an eye-witness, the triumpha 
which Thusnelda and her son figured as captives ; and he wrote before there c 
been a fixed decision as to whether little Thumelik was to become a public pe: 
any kind. 



1876] 



Amnn, the Liheraior of Oermawy. 



249 



fiktherland and his desolate home 
drove him to frantic fury. In the 
words of the historian, he was urged 
on by the impetuosity of his nature, 
as well as by his feelings of indig- 
nation at the fate of his wife, and 
the prospect of a child of iheirs 
having to be bom in captivity. 
He sped through the Cheruskian 
districts, calling for war against 
Segest ; for war against the Caesar. 
* the noble father ! * — he exclaimed, 
in one of his patriotic harangues — 
*0 the great Imperator! O the 
valiant Army, whose countless hands 
laid hold of, and carried away, a 
helpless woman ! Three legions, as 
many legates, had gone down into 
the dost before him (Armin). But 
not in cowardly manner — not against 
helpless women — but openly, against 
armed men, did he make war. 
There were still to be seen, in Ger- 
man forests, the banners of the 
Romans which he had hung up 
there in honour of his country's 
gods. A Segest might cultivate 
the banks of a river conquered by 
a foreign foe, and make his own 
son resume the functions of a Ro- 
nan pnest. But the Germans as 
a people would never forget that 
between the Rhine and the Elbe 
they had seen the fasces, the lictor's 
ases, and the togas. Other nations 
there were that lived without know- 
ledge of Roman dominion — un- 
aware of its cruel executions ; un- 
acquainted with its oppressive im- 
posts. But they who had freed 
themselves from such tyranny ; they 
before whom Augustus, who was said 
to be received into the circle of the 
gods, and that egregious Tiberius, 
had been unable to achieve anything 
^they should not stand in fear of an 
inexperienced youth and his re- 
bellious army. If they preferred 



their fatherland, their parents, 
their ancient laws, to a Lord and 
Master, and to the new colonies 
he would set up among them, then 
they should rather follow Armin, 
the leader of glory and freedom, 
than Segest, the herald of dis- 
graceful bondage ! ' 

Tacitus says of this speech that 
it contains words of abuse. It con- 
tained only a truth not palatable to 
a race which aimed at the dominion 
over the world. The result of 
Armin 's energetic agitation was, 
that neighbouring tribes, besides 
the Cheruskians, were inflamed 
with patriotic ardour, and that 
his uncle, Inguiomer,* a man of 
high standing, and of great author- 
ity with the Romans themselves, 
was drawn into the League. True 
to their policy, the Romans en- 
deavoured to get the better of 
this new German rising by enlisting 
auxiliaries among the Uhaukians, 
who inhabited the country now 
called Eastern Friesland, and by 
coming down upon the League 
formed by Armin from the side of 
the river Ems, as well as from the 
Rhine. A colossal army and fleet 
were at the command of the Roman 
General. * In order to divide the 
enemy,* Caecina led forty Roman 
cohorts through Brukterian terri- 
tory to the Ems. The cavalry was 
led by the Prefect Pedo to the 
frontier of the Frisians. Caesar 
Germanicus himself went by sea, 
along the Frisian coast, at the head 
of four legions. At the Ems, the 
place of general appointment, the 
fleet, the infantry, and the cavalry 
met. Then began the work of 
devastation in the country between 
the Ems and the Lippe — * which is 
not far from that Teutoburg Forest 
whei'e, according to common report, 



* Many German names have been written down by the Romans in a form which it is 
difficult to recognise now. Inguiomer s name is among the exceptions. Among the 
•008 of Mannns (i.e. Man), the mythic progenitor of the three chief German tribes, 
there is one whose name corresponds with the first part of the name of Armin*s uncle. 
In the Edda (OM;isdrecka) we find the sunny ^od called Ingri-Freyr ; and again, in the 
heroic song of Helgakhinda, we find an Ingyi. So again, in an Anglo-Saxon genea- 
logical table. The ending syllable ' mcr,' or ' mar,' occurs in many German names. 



250 



Amun^ the Liberator of Oermany, 



[Aag^st 



Varus and the remnants of the 
legions still lay unburied.*® 

The plan evidently was to sur- 
round the Cheruskian League; to 
annihilate it at the very scene of 
its earlier great triumph ; or to 
drive it towards the Rhine — thus 
crushing it between an attack from 
the East and the West. Through 
swamps and morasses, over which 
bridges and embankments had to 
be raised, the Roman army marched 
towards the fatal Teutoburg Forest. 
A deep emotion seized the soldiers 
when they came to the place so 
hideous to them by its aspect and 
memory. It was a terrible sight. 
The first camp of Varus could yet 
be recognised, showing, by its wide 
extent and its divisions, the strength 
of three legions. There was the half- 
sunken wall — the low ditch ; indi- 
cating the place where the beaten 
remnants of the legions had once 
more attempted a resistance. In 
the open spaces, bleached bones 
were to be seen — scattered, or in 
heaps, even as the troops had fled, 
or withstood an attack.*^ . Broken 
spears, skeletons of horses, heads 
nailed to trees ; in the groves near 
by, rude altars where sacrifices had 
taken place : all this brought back 
the harrowing incidents of the Teu- 
toburg Battle. Some of the survivors 
of the defeat, who had escaped from 
the battle or from their fetters, 
pointed out the most noteworthy 
spiots. There the legates had fallen ! 
There the eagles were lost ! There 
Varus had received his first wound ! 
There he had found his death by a 
Bword-thrust from his own hand! 
Here, Arminius had spoken from a 
raised scaffolding ! Here, a gallows 
had been erected for prisoners! 
Here there were pits of corpses ! 
On yonder spot, Arminius had wan- 
tonly scofled at the Roman banners 
and eagles ! 



In melancholy mood, yet full of 
wrath — as Tacitus says — the Roman 
Army buried the sorry remnants of 
the legions of Varus. Germanicus 
himself raised the first sod for a 
grave-mound. Brooding Tiberius, 
always nourishing suspicion, strong- 
ly blamed this expedition to the 
scene of the lost battle; thinking, 
perhaps not without reason, that 
the sight of the dead and unburied 
must impress the army with greater 
fear of its foe. Indeed, the new 
battle which now followed was, ac- 
cording to Roman testimony, again 
very near being lost, and remained 
* indecisive.' That is to say, Grer- 
manicus hurriedly returned with 
his legions to the Ems, re-embark- 
ing them on his fleet, whilst a por- 
tion of his cavalry was ordered to 
follow along the shore of the Grer- 
man Ocean, towards the Rhine; 
thus remaining within hail. Caecina, 
in the meanwhile, was to march 
over the so-called Long Bridges — 
probably the same dykes which, for 
eighteen hundred years afterwards, 
still led from Lingen to Kovorden, 
through the Bourtang Moor. 

Finding the dykes partly decayed, 
Caecina had to use the shovel as well 
as the sword in presence of the ha- 
rassing enemy. > A fearful straggle 
began. The Germans, with their 
powerful limbs and long spears, 
fought on the shppery ground and in 
the morasses with wonderful agility. 
From the neighbouring hill-sides, 
waters were made to. deviate, by 
German hands, towards the plaee ol 
contest. In their heavy armature, the 
Romans felt unequal to this strange 
water-battle. Night at last gave 
some respite, but was made hideous 
by the jubilant songs of the carous- 
ing enemy, who filled the valleys 
and the forests with the echo of their 
deep-chested voices. The Romans, 
'more sleepless than watchfiil,' lay 



' Tacitus, Annals, i. 60. 

' Not far from the village of Stuckenbrock, there is a brook that still bears the name 
of Knochenbach (Bones' -brook). Tradition says of it that it is so called on aoeount of 
the human bones that were frequently washed out of the ground by its waters. 



1875] 



Armin, (he Liberator of Ocvmany. 



251 



drearily near their palisades, or wan- 
dered about despairingly between the 
tents. It was during that night of 
terrors that Caecina, in his dream, 
saw and heard Quinctilius Varus — 
he rose, blood-covered, from the 
morass, calling for help; yet not 
accepting, but pashing back, the 
proffered hand of help. 

When day broke, Armin rushed 
npon the Komans, shouting : ' Ho ! 
Varus again ! and, by the same fate, 
twice- vanquished legions !* With a 
body of picked men, he in person 
cuts through the Roman troops ; in- 
flicting wounds especially on their 
horses. They, throwing their riders, 
and trampling on the fallen men, 
create confusion throughout the 
ranks. Caecina himself, flung 
from his horse, is nearly suiTounded, 
and with difficulty saved by the 
first legion. After a prolonged 
massacre, darkness even brings no 
end to the misery. There are no 
sapper's tools ; no tents ; no band- 
ages for the wounded. The food is 
soiled with blood and dirt. Wail- 
ing and despair everywhere. A 
night alarm is created by a horse 
that has got loose. The Romans, 
believing that the Germans have 
broken into the camp, fly towards 
the gate on the opposite side, and 
are wily stopped at last by Caecina, 
whose admonitions and prayers 
had been fruitless, throwing himself 
bodily on the ground to bar the 
gate, whilst the tribunes and the 
centurions assure the soldiers that 
the alarm was a groundless one. 

Had Armin' s more prudent tac- 
tics been carried out to the last ; had 
iu>t Inguiomer's passionate advice 
fco storm the Roman camp pre- 
vailed in the German council of 
War, the legions of Caecina would 
bave been annihilated as those of 
^ams had been. As it was, the 
fortune of battle was restored to 
the Romans ; Armin leaving the 
ground of contest unharmed, whilst 
lagaiomer received a severe wound. 
Caedna's troops effected their re- 



treat. The fleet of Germanicus, 
who had taken the remainder of 
the army with him, was in the 
meanwhile wrecked in the German 
Ocean by a storm-flood, and gene- 
rally believed to be lost, until that 
part of the army also came back, 
after many sufferings and losses. 

On the Rhine, the rumour that 
the Roman army was hemmed in, 
and that the Germans were march- 
ing towards Gaul, gave rise to such 
fears that the bridge over which the 
retreating legions were to come 
would have been pulled down, had 
not Agrippina, the granddaughter 
of Augustus, and wife of Germani- 
cus, placed herself there with her 
Httle son, the future Emperor Cali- 
gula, whom she had dressed in the 
garb of a legionary. By personally 
receiving and encouraging the re- 
turning soldiers, she stayed the 
apprehensions, and prevented the 
destruction of the bridge. So miser- 
ably ended a campaign which had 
been destined to be a War of Re- 
venge for the Battle in the Teuto- 
burg Forest. 

Agfain we find the Romans re- 
turning to their plan of conquering 
the country between the Rhine and 
the Weser by a simultaneous attack 
from the land side and from the 
shores of the German Ocean. An 
even more colossal army and fleet is 
under the orders of their General. 
Again they come with auxiliaries of 
Teuton origin ; but some of these— 
the Angrivarians — rise in their rear. 
On the Roman side there is, this 
time, Armin' s own brother, Fla- 
vus— so called on account of his 
flaxen or golden hair. Like Segest, 
he had kept with his country's 
enemies, even after the great victory 
of the German arms. There is a 
pathetic account, in Tacitus' Annalsy 
of an interview between the two 
brothers, standing on the opposite 
banks of the Weser, when Armin 
endeavoured to gain over Flavns 
to the national cause. The inter- 
view took place with Roman per- 



252 



Ai-niifif the Liberator of Qermany. 



[August 



mission. Armin, after haviug saluted 
his brother, who had lost an eye in 
battle, asked him whence that dis- 
figuration of his face ? On hearing 
of the cause, and of the reward 
received for it — namely, a neck- 
chain, a crown, and other insignia 
— the Liberator laughs scornfully 
at * those contemptible prizes of 
slavery.' Thereupon they speak 
against one another : Flavus extol- 
ling Latin power, pointing to the 
severe punishments that await the 
vanquished, and to the mercy ex- 
tended to the submissive. On his 
part, Armin speaks to his brother 
of his country's rights; of their 
ancient native freedom ; of Ger- 
many's own gods; of the prayers 
of their mother ; of the calls of their 
kith and kin. *Is it better,* he 
exclaims, * to be a deserter from, and 
a traitor against, your people, than 
to be their leader and their chief- 
tain?' 

Filled with anger. Golden- Hair 
hurriedly asks for his horse and 
weapons from those near him ; 
wishing to cross over with fratri- 
cidal purpose. With difficulty is he 
restrained. Armin answers with 
threats, announcing new battles ; 
and many sentences he uttered, be- 
tween his German speech, in Latin, 
fio that the Romans also might 
understand him. 

Soon the struggle recommences. 
We see Cariovalda (probably * Heer- 
walt,' i.e. Army-leader), the chief 
of the Batavian auxiliaries, falling 
under Cheruskian blows in a plain 
surrounded by wooded hills. News 
comes to the Roman General by a 
German runawny that Armin nas 
fixed the place where he will give 
battle to the Romans; that other 
tribes also are assembled in the 
* Grove of Hercules' (undoubtedly 
a grove devoted to Thunar, the God 
of the Tempests) ; and that a noc- 



turnal attack upon the Roman camp 
is intended. Meanwhile the bold- 
ness of the Germans becomes such 
that one of their men who knows the 
Latin tongue, spurs on his horse to 
the camp wall, and with powerftil 
voice, in the name of Armin, makes 
sundry joyftil promises to those 
who will desert from the Roman 
Army. We hear Germanicus rousing 
the courage of his troops ; Armin 
on his part asks his men what else 
there is to be done than * to main- 
tain their freedom, or to die before 
falling into bondage ? ' 

We then see the Roman Army, 
composed of many legions, and 
with picked cavalry, marching for- 
ward with Gallic and German 
auxiliaries to the Battle of Idis- 
taviso. The locality of that battle 
is not clearly fixed. Maybe, that 
*Idistaviso' means Deister-Wiese — 
the Meadow of the Deister Hills.* 
In this case, the battle-field would 
be near Minden. Others place it 
near Vegesack, in the vicinity of 
Bremen. It is reported that in 
this battle Armin, easily to be 
distinguished by his bravery, his 
voice, and his wound, for some 
time maintained the contest ; rush- 
ing through the enemy's bowmen, 
and only stopped by the Rhaetian, 
the Vindelician, and the Gtillic co- 
horts — all men of other nationality 
than the Roman. In danger of being 
surrounded, he breaks away from 
his foes by his vehement valour 
and the impetuosity of his charger. 
His face is smeared over with 
blood — perhaps purposely done, to 
avoid recognition. Some say that 
the Chaukian auxiliaries of the 
Romans did recognise him, but let 
him pass through unhurt. Though 
mercenaries themselves, they could 
not harm the Deliverer — a touching 
trait! In similar manner, Ingoi- 
omer saved himself. The result of 



* A mythological explanation of the name of that field is, that it means t he Meadow 
of the Divine Virgins; or of the Walkyres — ^Virgins of Battle. Instead of Idistaviio, 
Idiasa-Viso has heen suggested to sustain this interpretation. 



1875] 



Armirij the Lihei'ator of Germany, 



253 



the battle was claimed as a victory 
bj the Romans, who boast of a 
great miassacre among the van- 
qnished Germans. 

But another battle preseutly 
followed ; the German tribes being 
roused to fary by the sight of a 
iriumphal monument which the 
Bomans had raised, with an in- 
scription of the names of the popula- 
tions they thought they had van- 
quished. 'The people, the nobles, 
&e youth, the old men, suddenly 
fell upon the Roman Army, 
throwing it into confusion.' So 
Tacitus says. Armin, suffering 
from a wound, is not present 
during this new engagement. In- 
guiomer, who rushes through the 
ranks, with words of cheer, is 
forsaken by Fortune rather than by 
his courage. Germanicus recom- 
mends his troops * not to make any 
prisoners, but to continue the cam- 
age, as the war could be ended only 
by the extermination of that people.* 
The main victory was again claimed 
by the Bomans, although their 
cavalry fought, according to their 
own testimony, indecisively. 

Raising a monument of arms, 
a mendacious inscription on which 
spoke of a victory over *the na- 
tions between the Rhine and the 
Elbe,' the Roman General re- 
tnmed, by way of the Ems, to 
the German Ocean, when the 
fleet was again wrecked, and 
Germanicus, in a trireme, driven 
to the Chaukian shore. With diflB- 
culfcy was he restrained from seek- 
ing death, accusing himself of this 
niisfortune. Some of his wrecked 
soldiers found shelter on the Frisian 
islands. Many had to be freed by 
nmsom from captivity among the 
inhabitants of the interior. Some, 
driven as far as the British shores, 
were sent back by the kinglets of 
that country. 

Barring a few fresh Roman inroads 
into Chattian and Marsian territory, 
there was an end, henceforth, of 
Latin power in those regions of 
north-western Germany. The fol- 



lowing years are filled with the 
straggle between Marobod, the 
German ruler in Bohemia, who had 
assumed the title of King, and 
Armin, the * Champion of Freedom.' 
Suevian tribes, Scmnones and 
Longobards, dissatisfied with Maro- 
bod's royal pretensions, went over 
to the Liberator, whose influence 
would now have been paramount^ 
had not dissension once more 
broken out by the defection of 
Inguiomer. Priding himself on 
the superior wisdom of older age, 
he would not obey his younger 
nephew, Armin, and went over to 
Marobod; thus helping to divide 
Ge rmany from within . In the words 
of the Roman historian, the different 
tribes had, * after the retreat of the 
Romans, and being no longer 
apprehensive of foreign enemies, 
become jealous of each other's 
glory, and turned their weapons 
against themselves, in accordance 
with the custom of that nation. 
The strength of the contending 
populations, the bravery of the 
chiefs, were equal. But Marobod's 
royal title was hateful to his 
countrymen, whilst Armin, the 
Champion of Freedom, possessed 
their favour.* 

With an army of 70,000 men and 
4,000 horse, organised and officered 
on the Roman system, the Markoman 
King opposed the Cheruskian leader. 
North and South were ranged as 
foes against each other — a spectacle 
too often seen in later centuries! 
It is reported that Marobod, though 
for somo time looked upon and 
treated by the suspicious Romans 
as a possible enemy, who might 
threaten their possessions south of 
the Danube, and even Italy itself, 
yet endeavoured to keep on good 
terms with them. When Armin, 
after the defeat of Varus, sent the 
head of the Roman general as a 
pledge of victory to Marobod, the 
latter hastened to return it to the 
Romans for honourable burial. In 
the hour of Marobod's misfortune 
the Romans, however, only re- 



254 



Armirif the Liberator of Germany. 



[August 



membcrcd that he had not aided 
them in their contest against the 
Cheruskians. Imploring — after an 
indecisive battle, and much weak- 
ened by desertion — some succour 
from Tiberius, the Markoman ruler 
was refused all help ; and becoming 
a fugitive, had to go, more as a 
prisoner than as an exile, to that 
same Ravenna, where Thusnelda 
ended her days in grief, far from 
her northern forest-home. The 
young Gothic duke Catualda, or 
Chatuwalda, who in the meanwhile 
stormed Marobod's capital, was in 
his turn expelled by another German 
tribe, the Hermundures ; and flying 
also to the Komans, died in distant 
Gaul. Verily, a series of sad pic- 
tures of such discord as made the 
Roman historian say that if the 
gods wished to stay the impending 
fate of his own nation, they should 
for ever keep up dissension among 
the Germans. 

Still, even these dissensions, 
albeit delaying, could not prevent, 
the fall of the Roman Empire. 
Frisian, Batavian, Markoman risings, 
the latter lasting for twenty years, 
followed, in course of time, upon 
Armin's struggles. And who knows 
whether in the later Germanic on- 
slaught on Rome, the hosts of Goths, 
Herulians, Longobards, may not 
have marched forth to the sound of 
heroic songs that praised Armin's 
deeds ? — songs probably still extant 
in the ninth century, under the 
Frankish Karl ; forming part of 
those collected by him, but unfor- 
tunately lost for us. 

We now rapidly come to Armings 
end. We hear of a knavish pro- 
posal for poisoning him, made to 
the Roman Senate by a Chattian 
chieftain, Adgandester. The same 
historian who describes the refusal 
of the Senate to accede to poison, 
considers it a simple matter that a 
Chaukian leader, Gannask, was got 
rid of by means not very (Hssimilar. 



The last days of the Victor of the 
Teutoburg Battle are enveloped in 
doubt and mystery. It is said tliat, 
after the withdrawal of the Romans 
and the overthrow of Marobod, 
he, too, was suspected of aiming at 
dominion, and was opposed by his 
freedom-loving countrymen, against 
whom he struggled with varying 
success. Roman report states this 
in a few lines. But it would be 
difficult, in the absence of all 
further testimony, to decide whe- 
ther the ' love of freedom * of his 
opponents was a people's spirit 
of self-government, or merely 
the jealousy of minor chief- 
tains whom the Romans would 
gladly have seen fritter away all 
German national cohesion. At 
last, Armin, at the age of thirty- 
seven, * fell bv the treachery of his 
relations ' — tnat is to say, was mur- 
dered. 

Of him Tacitus writes : — * With- 
out doubt, Arminius was Germany's 
Deliverer (^Arminms liberator hand 
duhie Gerfnaniae) — one who had not 
warred against the early beginnings 
of the Roman people, like other 
princes or army-leaders, but against 
the Empire at the height of its 
power. Of chequered fortune in 
war, he was never vanquished in 
battle. Thirty-seven years of his life, 
twelve of his power did he com- 
plete : his glory is still sung among 
the barbarian nations ; unknown he 
is to the annals of the Greeks,* who 
only admire their own deeds ; not 
sufficiently praised is his name by 
the Romans, it being our custom 
to extol the past, and not to caro 
for the events of more recent days.' 

This praise, coming from an enemy, 
is the greatest that could have been 
giv6n ; and no prouder inscription 
could be placed on the Memorial 
which is to be inaugurated in the 
Teutoburg Forest than the Latin 
words : * Liberator Germanme,* 

Karl Blind. 



* Still, Strabo — before the time of Tacitus — mentions Armin. The same was done 
later by Dio Cassius. 



187^] 



255 



ARTIST AND CRITIC. 



T HR time when the Summer Pic- 
ture Exhibitions of London 
are just closing their doors seems 
the fittest for the publication of a 
few remarks which are not meant 
to be taken as criticisms on parti- 
cular pictures, but as an attempt to 
attain some principles of judgment, 
especially on one important point 
in matters of Art, and to use as 
illustrations some of those Works 
which will be fresh in everybody's 
memory. 

An old feud unfortunately has 
long existed between Artist and 
Critic, not less living in our own 
day when we are so extremely civil 
to each other in public. Artists 
(I now mean painters in particular) 
among themselves speak of Critics 
with supreme contempt. Sometimes 
there is a mixture of personal feel- 
ing ; but where there is nothing at 
all of this the Artist feels it his 
duhr to object to the average or 
typical Critic. 

It is not the Critic's blame that 
is objected to, but his ignorance ; not 
his censure, but his want of sense 
of what it is really important to aim 
at in a work of art, and what con- 
Btitutes success or non-success in 
carrying it out. No man who has 
not at least made a serious effort 
to do real art- work can understand 
the technical difficulties and the 
means of overcoming these. He 
does not know in any given case 
(say the Artists) what could haye 
been done, what ought to have been 
done, what was intended, nor how 
much has been accomplished. He 
demands impossibilities ; exclaims 
on missing something that never 
was meant to be put in ; is blind to 
the difficulties that have been over- 
come. He does not see that when 
jui original man gives the world 
something peculiar by means of his 
special gift it is foolish and in- 
solent to ask why he has not 



given some other thing, or why 
not everything. When he does 
praise, it is very likely something 
an Artist cares little or nothing 
about. He would be a rare sort of 
Critic whose technical knowledge 
and experience were up to the aver- 
age mark of an Artist's. A man 
with that is not very likely to be a 
professed Critic at all ; he will prefer 
doing Art to writing about it. Even 
grant him technical knowledge, still 
nothing can prevent his having 
biases and preferences as an indivi- 
dual — for who is without them ? — 
and if he writes all the year round 
about all kinds of pictures and 
painters, it is impossible he can 
judge all fairly. 

The Artists further say : if Critic 
Richard or Critic Robert gave his 
remarks simply as his — an account 
of the real impressions made upon 
him — we should listen, if we had 
time, with a certain interest to his 
notions, and to the notions of any 
intelligent man or number of men ; 
the more such opinions the better, 
and from a multitude of them there 
would be certainly something to 
learn, to whatever effect. But when 
the voice of Dick or Bob is mag- 
nified into celestial thunder through 
the speaking-trumpet of a great 
newspaper, and the general world 
hears and trembles (irrespective of 
Bob or Dick), we call this un&ir. 

Moreover, adds the Artist, read- 
ing, as most of us do (against the 
grain though it be), for we are 
living in the midst of it all — quan- 
tities of various criticism one year 
after another, we have a strong 
sense of absurdity, mingled with 
indignation, when we think of messes 
of ignorance, stupidity, and impu- 
dence upon which too commonly 
* Public Opinion ' on the Fine Arts 
is nourished. 

I confess I do not wonder at this 
being the habitual attitude of the 



256 



Artist and Critic. 



[A 



artist-mind towards tlie noble body 
of Art- Critics. 

It is doubtless the cardinal rule in 
this matter tha^ Critics, like all 
mankind, must learn Art from the 
works of the Artists, and can learn 
it nowhere else. Art is always 
concrete : we puzzle ourselves, and 
ever vainly, trying to consider it 
abstractly. 

But may not an Art-Critic's 
opinion be important beyond that of 
an average intelligent spectator? 
The qualified Art- Critic must, in the 
first place, have innate perception and 
sympathy in matters of art, as the 
wine-taster inherits a fine palate; 
and to both Critic and wine-taster 
is indispensable also the cultivation 
derived from large and varied ex- 
perience. The skilful taster will 
not be ignorant of the processes of 
vine-culture and wine-making ; and 
the intelligent Critic will have a 
considerable knowledge of techni- 
calities of art, to the extent of being 
aware of the possibilities, the aims, 
and, at least partly, of the methods 
involved. This is conceivable 
without the necessity of supposing 
him oHiste manque. On such 
points, indeed, the Critic will al- 
ways hesitate to set his judgment 
against an Artist's. But, as to 
comparison of works and styles, the 
Critic may probably have seen a 
greater number and variety of the 
best things extant in the world 
than most Artists. Let us suppose 
an intelligent, sympathetic, and 
cultivated Critic to be, further, a 
thoroughly honest, impartial man ; 
and now, bring him before a re- 
markable new picture. Is he not, 
viewing this from his own coign of 
vantage, db extemo, likely to judge 
on the whole better than the painter 
himself as to the harmony and com- 
pleteness of the work, its value to 
mankind, and its probable position 
in the history of art ? Let us con- 
sider. 

The raison cCetre of a Picture is 
that it charms the eye. The painter 



has seen keenly, felt deeply, : 
sen ted by the means of hi 
with an exquisite skill, some c 
magical, multitudinous beai] 
visible things ; and moreove 
willy-nilly, infused into the 
sentation a human quality d 
from himself. Natural beau 
flowed to the canvas throng 
brain, vid fingers and thumb, 
human quaUty, the very e 
of art, the precious and 
thing in every work, is strc 
proportion to the strength < 
individual nature, what we 
the geniiis, of the artist, 
the Artist's work very often 
could it be otherwise ? ) 
not only the peculiar noble j 
natural and acquired, but tl 
cnliar faults and defects, that 
bine to constitute his charact 
will not say that the strongei 
the more pronounced these 
are likely to be ; but merely 
everyday experience tells uf 
rai'e it is to find harmonioT 
velopment and perfect balaj 
powers in a Man of Genie 
man's most ingrained defect* 
colour-blindness, are the least 
to be suspected by the man 
self. A good Critic, then, 
judge the new picture, it 
probable, more justly than the 
could; and this holds equally 
as regards any number of 
pictures you may submit to tl 
Critic's judicial gaze. Isnottl: 
My Artist thinks not ; an 
reasons to show for his iie§ 
Every Artist is, no doubt, lik 
have 'thefaultsof his qualities 
must be on his guard accordi 
and a really sound Critic 
often give him a needful caui 
useful hint. It has long 
known that no human work i 
feet. But the Painter, on the '^ 
must and will work accordi 
his genius, and it is thus that 
he expresses himself happi 
gives us something peculia] 
quisite, and incomparable. 



1875] 



Artist and Critic. 



257 



close at your Critic (whom you have 
so well furnished ideally for his 
business that it would not be easy 
to match him in real life), and what 
do we find? Is not he too a 
man? Do you suppose (as al- 
ready hinted) that he has no idiosyn- 
crasies, prejudices, predilections, 
dissociations, biases ? That he has 
not a * fad ' for one sort of thing, 
^nd a dislike to another sort? 
That he has no individual sympa- 
thies and antipathies, likings or 
dislikings ? Can ho pull out a pair 
of scales for the picture, or mea- 
sure it with an ell-wand ? 

Criticism, as you allow, is derived 
from Art ; and the more original 
tind incomparable a work of art is, 
the more criticism at first is at sea 
in regard to it, and the more cer- 
tain are a Critic's individual preju- 
dices and assumptions to come into 
play. You might find, not very 
easily, a Picture, and a Critic for it 
who should form and express a tho- 
^poughly impartial and thoroughly 
competent judgment. But to find a 
Critic who could do the like, or 
come near doing it, for twenty 
various pictures — two hundred — 
two thousand ! 

* Judge,* * judgment,' — ^here once 
again we are in the risk of being 
cheated by the legerdemain which 
words, loosely used, so easily lend 
themselves to. A judge legal may 
try and decide satisfactorily a thou- 
sand or ten thousand causes; the 
genei^l principles of Reason and the 
special pi'ecepts of Law being suffi- 
cient for his guidance. A judge 
artistic (and self-constituted) can 
find no principles and precepts ap- 
plicable to any but the most elemen- 
tary portion of the vast variety of 
cases presented. Exactly in pro- 
portion to the importance and diffi- 
culty of a case will be the need of his 
extracting reason and precept from 
th e case itself. And he who is capable 
of learning thus (the only way) is 
not a likely man to undertake the 
office of Public Judge. Further, to 

VOL. XII.— NO. LXVIII. NEW SERIES. 



suppose that a Journal, Magazine, 
or Review, as a collective power, 
can hold any opinions on art (as it 
may on politics or theology) is mere 
nonsense. 

In brief, it would seem that what an 
Art- Critic ought to do (since as long 
as there are public exhibitions there 
will be public criticism) is to give his 
reasons and sign his name, or ini- 
tials, or even a 'tiom de 'plume ; thus 
speaking as one man and no more. 
Then his comment goes for nearer 
its true worth. He still has the 
opportunity and prestige of the high 
journalistic pulpit ; only he stands 
up and delivers his sermon, not 
pours it oracularly through a mystic 
speaking-trumpet. Artists, in any 
case, would not care very profoundly 
for such opinions, apart from their 
efiect on the public ; but they would 
feel better satisfied if the widely 
published praise or blame, which 
often affects the commercial value 
of their work, had not so much 
artificial and undue importance 
given to it, as it still has in most 
cases under the present system. 

It is clear that good Critics are 
not to be run against at every street 
comer. A fine Picture is not only the 
result of a peculiar human gifb or 
combination of gifts, innate, incom- 
municable, (what we call * genius ') ; 
along with which goes highly 
trained skill ; but, moreover, it is 
a work of science. The perspective 
alone may demand the solution of 
problems such as try the engineer 
and the mathematician. In short, 
the knowledge of Visible Nature, 
from the human form to a wreath of 
mist, and of all natural vicissitudes 
and combinations, and of all cha' 
racter in men, animals, and things 
discernible by the subtlest eye, 
which a painter may put into his 
work, is literally immense. 

Thus it appears that as regards ( i ) 
the artistic individuality or genius 
embodied in a work of art, and (2) 
the technique of it. Artists are not 
without reason for the contempt 

T 



258 



Arinst and Otitic, 



[August 



in which they hold criticism in 
general. The first, wherever in 
any art it is found, demands re- 
cognition not criticism. As to the 
second, unlearned criticism of tech- 
nicalities is an everyday vice of criti- 
cism; and, to an Artist, the technical 
part of the picture is the very life 
of it. 

Further, when Critics deal mainly 
with something that may be con- 
sidered more within their reach, 
namely the Subject^ Artists, or many 
of them, call this /literary' criti- 
cism — criticism *from the literary 
point of view,' and consider that 
they have thus disposed of its claims 
to attention, or at least reduced 
those claims to a very small figure. 

How then should the Artists not 
despise the Critics ! 

Up to this point I have, broadly, 
thought the Artists right. Here, 
broadly, I think them wrong. They 
undervalue Subject, and they mis- 
understand it (I trust, once for all, 
that no one will reckon my plain 
speaking as discourtesy). Most 
painters are so thoroughly and 
all but exclusively taken up with 
the technique^ that they care little 
for anything besides. The Artist 
loves the art in a picture so much 
that he is jealous of the subject. 
Praise the subject, and he had al- 
most as lief you praised the 
frame. I have often heard Artists 
say, that in looking at a picture the 
subject made no difference to them. 
That might be trivial or even 
ignoble, so long as there was good 
colour, drawing, composition. Now, 
in my humble opinion, if the tech- 
nique be the life of a picture, the 
subject is something even higher — 
it is the soul of it. Besides Draw- 
ing, Composition, and Colour, there 
must be Expression, Drawing, Com- 
position, Colour, may be considered 
and estimated separately in a given 
picture ; Expression belongs to the 
whole work and to every part ; and 
that ivhich is pictorialhj expressed 



is the real Suhjectj and the sovl of tlie 
picture. 

The subject, moreover, is pre- 
cisely that in a picture which can 
be criticised with real effect by the 
application of sound principles of 
jadgmeiut, — still, not without scope 
and necessity for the finest qualities 
of mind, in conjunction with a true 
feeling for art ; for subject and treat- 
ment must be in harmony with each 
other. And it is singular to notice 
how loose, vague, and utterly in- 
adequate the criticism of subject 
usually is, though copious at times 
in commentary, or lucky now and 
again in a passing remark. 

In any Picture, then (as I hold), 
that which is pictorially expressed 
by means of its drawing, colouring, 
and composition is its real Subject, 
— irrespective of name, description, 
motto, quotation, reference, or any 
non-pictorial means of suggestion. 
There are Sham Subjects, plenty of 
them; there are Bad Subjects; 
allowable Historic and Idteraiy Sub- 
jects ; and true Pictorial Subjects. 
And every Picture proper, I suDmit, 
has a subject, something which 
miderlies the objective presentment ; 
and there must be at least two con- 
nected ideas to constitute a Subject, 
— a cause (or motif) and an effect. 

But very often the real sub- 
ject of the Picture is one thing, and 
the pretended subject quite an- 
other thing. The pretence may be 
put forward wholly in words, or it 
may be partly in the Picture itself. 
And let us first take the latter sort 
of sham subject, which is the 
more subtle, and the more difficult 
to bring to conviction. A painter 
enchanted with the leaf- woven laby- 
rinth of some shady Wood, paints it 
tenderly and well, and at some 
stage or other of his work puts in 
a conspicuous but vapid figure or 
pair of figures, in which he neither 
feels interest nor expects it to be 
felt. Perhaps he calls the per- 
formance 'Amaryllis,' or 'LjcidaSy' 
or * Apollo and Daphne,' or ' Love's 



1875] 



Artist and Critic, 



259 



Young Dream/ but, however named, 
the real subject is still a Wood ; 
and even mith(/ut a name of this kind 
the suggestion to the eye that a 
subject of special human interest is 
intended would be a pretence and 
an offence. This case of a landscape 
subject pretending to be a human 
one is very common, and many 
famous names in art could be brought 
forward in support of the practice. 
Nevertheless, I believe the true doc- 
trine to be that where all you want 
to dOy or can do, is to put * Figures' 
in your landscape, every pretence 
that you are offering those figures as 
your subject is to be avoided. 

Again, let us suppose that, in 
designing his delightful Wood, the 
painter has also designed therein, 
and carried out with happy harmo- 
nious effect, a figure of a Youth 
leaning against a tree, or of a 
Maiden walking slowly along ; and 
say he oalls this 'Love's Youug 
Dream.'- The real subject here is a 
Youth or Maiden in a Wood. In 
this case, a subject with general 
human interest, not closely defined, 
pretends to have a particular sort 
of human interest. The look of 
sweet meditation (supposing that to 
hare been expressed) is labelled ; 
you are told in words what the per- 
son presented to you is thinking 
of. This is another common kind 
of sham, always vulgarising in 
^ect^ and used ad captandum vvl^ 
gu8. Here we come upon one of 
the sources of the contempt of Svh- 
jeU among Artists: the Public 
looks almost exclusively for the 
Subject in a Picture ; the Artist, 
caring, to begin vrith, chiefly for 
the iechfiique, also knows that the 
subject is, in many if not most cases, 
a sham, and that the Public is being 
led by the nose. Now, Master Public 
is perfectly right in holding the 
Subject to be the chi^f thing ; only 
he should always look for the 
real Subject — ^the thing pictorially 
expressed ; and he ought to feel 
disgusted and insulted, instead of 



allowing himself to be cajoled, 
amused, and misled, by the ^cky 
pretences of Subject so frequently 
put forward. 

Let us turn back for a moment 
to our Forest Picture. It might, as 
we have seen, be a landscape sub- 
ject pretending to be one of human 
interest. It might be the scene and 
accessory of undefined human in- 
terest pretending to bo definite ; or, 
we might say, of one kind of human 
interest (pleasant meditation) pre- 
tending to be another kind (love's 
young dream). Or, it might 
present a recumbent figure in the 
traditional costume of the melan- 
choly Jacques,-^a literary subject, 
belonging to a debateable class ; 
or a Young Grentleman smoking a 
cigar, a mean subject ; or a Game- 
keeper pulling the neck of a rabbit, 
a repulsive subject. 

The Wood in its character of 
loneliness ; or as the dwelling-place 
of many wild creatures ; (but a soli- 
tary landscape, too, must have its 
motif, and that thoroughly expressed) 
or with Human Figure or Figures 
rightly subordinated; or with a 
walking Maiden or a leaning Youth 
in good keeping with the scene ; or 
with a loving Pair to whose love«» 
dreamfol looks the landscape formed 
harmonious accompaniment ; or the 
leaning Youth, with due expression, 
just done carving * Mary ' or * Laura ' 
on a tree — ^any of the above (barring 
tricks of title) would be a Bight 
subject, as far as it goes — a pictorial 
subject proper. You might, more- 
over, fairly call either of the two 
last * Love's Young Dream,' an' it 
so pleased you. 

Let us now leave imaginary 
pictures and turn to some actusd 
examples which everybody will re- 
member. One of Mr. Riviere's 
works in this year's Academy Exhi- 
bition represents an old shepherd in 
a smock-frock leaning over a wall in 
a snow-covered landscape, his two 
dogs waiting. He holds in one 
hand a pair of spectacles and a 

T 2 



260 



Artist and Critic, 



[August 



folded newspaper. His look is 
meditative and serious. The sub- 
ject here is, really, an Old Shepherd 
with his dogs in a snowy field; 
a sufl&ciently interesting subject. 
Snow is in itself enough to make a 
shepherd serious (but indeed this fine 
old man's face has scarcely more in 
it than the usual pensive and touch- 
ing gravity of age). The folded 
Times may have notified some im- 
portant variation in market prices. 
But the newspaper has been put in 
as a connecting link between the 
picture and the catalogue ; and in 
the latter you are requested to 
believe that the subject of the former 
is 'War News,' and further that 
the old man's son Tommy is dead. 

Here is an instance where it can 
be pointed out, without any need 
of technical criticism, that the Artist 
has made a mistake. The public 
are known to like a ' story ; ' it 
amuses and interests thousands to 
whom pictorial qualities would be a 
dead letter; therefore, not having 
succeeded in expressing a story in 
his picture, the painter puts it into 
the catalogue — puts it into the 
name of the work, helped in this 
case by a descriptive quotation. 
Leave out newspaper and spectacles 
j( relinquishing the aim of amusing 
the general public by a trick), and 
caU it simply * The Old Shepherd,' 
and the picture would be admirable 
and full of pathetic suggestion. 

If the painter had distinctly set 
before himself and worked out the 
problem of painting a picture on the 
subject of * War News,' showing 
how a battle wounds many who are 
far distant from the field of blood, he 
might have shown (to suggest one 
method) a large bill on a village 
wall with ' Great Battle — List of the 
Killed and Wounded,' &c., and, close 
by, a man reading from a newspaper 
to a group of listeners with various 
expressions of grief, pain, anxiety, 
&c. Even with the shepherd as he 
stands, something more might have 
been done; for instance, on the folded 



newspaper instead of * Latest ' 
(which can be dimly made out), why 
not have let one see ' The War,' and 
have put, along with it, a black- 
edged letter in the old man's hand ? 
Shepherds get black-edged letters 
now-a-days ; and you might suppose 
that an officer of the regiment had 
written. 

The objection here made is that 
the painter tells us he has meant 
to express a certain subject in 
his picture, and has not there ex- 
pressed it. But suppose we take the 
Picture as carrying out pictorially 
the subject of a Poem ? Is not that 
allowable ? 

Sometimes, perhaps, I think it 
best when a picture is completely 
self-contained — tells its own story 
(if story there be), expresses its own 
intention, without any extraneous 
aid. But, conceded the privilege 
of a title, it ought at most to set 
the spectator's imagination at the 
right point of view for seeing 
what 18 in the picture. The em- 
ployment of further description or 
quotation is always unlucky, to my 
notion ; and the more the worse. As to 
the question of a picture offered as 
* illustrating ' something literary, and 
depending in some degree thereon 
for its interest, perhaps its intelligibi- 
lity, — the Literary Something ought 
at least to be well known, to have a 
recognised place in the world. It 
is, for instance, perhaps allow- 
able to paint such a world- 
fiEunous situation as Hamlet's first 
view of his Father's Ghost, and 
to take advantage of the manifold 
associations inseparable from the 
scene in the spectator's mind ; yet 
even in this case I cannot conceive 
of any mode of treatment which would 
make this situation a thoroughly 
proper subject to be painted. To 
represent the Figure in armour as a 
King and as a Supernatural Visitant 
is well within the resources of pic- 
torial art. That it was the Ghost of 
Hamlet's Father might be strongly 
hinted by means of an emphatic 



1875] 



Artist end Critic. 



261 



family likeness. That the Ghost was 
*a perturbed spirit' could be shown. 
Bat nothing in the picture could 
show that he had been poisoned, 
poisoned by his brother ; that that 
brother now wore his crown and was 
married to his widow, Hamlet's 
mother ; and that the hollow voice 
of the dead was calling on his son 
to revenge his * foul and most un- 
natural murder.' A Son seeing his 
Father'' s Ohost is a pictorial subject 
proper (whether good or not good 
we need not enquire), a subject 
thoroughly expressible by pictorial 
art ; Hamlet seehig his Father's 
Ohost is a * literary ' subject, with 
much pictorial effect, but eking 
itself out by something extraneous. 
Take a few other subjects from 
the same play. Hamlet Soliloquising 
would be literary with a minimum 
of pictorial expressibility ; it would 
depend almost wholly on your 
knowledge of the play. Hamlet 
vnth the Skull; literary with more of 
pictorial : a man looking on a skull 
is in itself a subject. Ophelia giving 
hack HamleVs Gifts; literary but 
with a high degree of pictorial. Call 
it simply Gifts Betunied, or even 
without any title, the situation is 
thoroughly expressible in painting, 
capable of being made at once in- 
telligible and subtly pathetic ; and in 
this case I doubt whether it would 
not be excess of purism to object to 
the further interest to be gained by 
association T>'ith Shakspeare's poetic 
masterpiece. 

In the Old Shepherd (to come 
back) a good simple pictorial sub- 
ject is damaged by an unsuccessful 
attempt to give it literary interest. 

On the other hand, interest of 
a suitable kind might have easily 
been added to Mr. Marks' o * Three 
Jolly Postboys ' by legitimate pic- 
torial means, namely by giving 
them wedding-favours. 

Mr. Millais' picture called * The 
Crown of Love ' pretends to have a 
poetic, pathetic, and tragic subject, 
and has, in fact, no distinguishable 



subject whatever. It is a study of 
a Young Man in a greenish fancy 
dress (unfit for such an enterprise) 
carrying a Young Woman in white 
up-hill. You are informed in the 
catalogue that the young man is a 
knight, the young woman a princess 
with whom he is in love ; that he 
has been promised her hand on 
condition of his carrying her to 
the top of a certain steep mountain ; 
and you are told in printed words 
not merely the past history and 
present relations of the pair — 
which are nowise indicated pic- 
torially — ^but the future into the 
bargain. The young man, you are 
to know, will succeed in carrying 
his fair burden aloft, and will then 
sink down exhausted and breathe 
his last. The subject of the pic- 
ture, you will please observe, is 
*The Crown of Love,' and your 
interest is helped by being told, 
without the least artistic excuse, 
that the end is pain, death, and 
despair. The introduction of gloom 
and misery into any work of art, 
plastic or literary, without adequate 
artistic reason, is one of the un- 
pardonable offences. 

But putting this aside (which only 
appears in the catalogue), one does 
not need any technical knowledge 
to see the absurdity of the Picture 
itself, as regards subject. An artist 
wishing to paint a Young Man 
romantically carrying a Young 
Woman up-hill could easily enough 
contrive a sufficient plot; putting, 
for instance, safety at the top — a 
castle-gate; danger below — armed 
pursuers. The 1mm an face being 
an important index of emotion, one 
would like also to see something of 
the faces of both the principal 
actors ; but it is not my object to 
go into details. Suffice it to say, 
here is the Academy's most pre- 
tentious Picture in subject, as set 
forth in the title and quotation, 
and it has no intelligible subject at 
all. Name it * The Robber Knight ' 
and there is nothing to prevent 



262 



Artist a Critic, 



[Aagnst 



your taking it so. The girl's look 
and gesture agree better perhaps 
with this than with the declared 
intention. 

The same painter's *No' shows 
ns a charming and tonching three- 
qnarter-length portrait of a young 
lady; but the pretended subject 
depends wholly on the title given. 
If a fancy name was thought indis- 
pensable, especially on account of 
the engraving-buying public, 'What 
has she written ? ' would have at 
least saved the work from falling 
into the class of Sham- subject 
Pictures. 

Mr. Millais has two landscapes in 
this year's Academy Exhibition, 
one of which is called * The Fringe 
of the Moor.' When an artist for- 
mally names his picture in sending 
it out into the world, the name, 
if we attend to it at all, must 
be taken as indicating his intention 
in the work. This vigorously real- 
istic pictare might have been named 
* View near Dunkeld * (or wherever 
the scene lies), as a noble and price- 
less landscape in the National Gal- 
lery is named ' Monsehold Heath,' 
and another, 'Bligh Saiids near 
Sheerness.' But the fashion of the 
day suggested something less simple, 
and * The Fringe of the Moor ' was 
selected. K we take this as the sub- 
ject, we have a right to expect a 
scene presenting with emphasis the 
characteristics of the fringe of a 
moor, and such a scene is not be- 
fore us. A large oil picture with- 
out any human figure must always 
be a questionable experiment, and 
it ought, at least, to express charac- 
teristically some aspect of nature. 

The other Landscape also has its 
subject distinctly announced in the 
catalogue : one of the most pathetic 
subjects conceivable for a mere land- 
scape picture ; where, without a single 
human figure, nay, by moans of the 
absence of all human figures, a deep 
human interest might be infused; 
namely, the tangled solitude 'where 
a garden had been.' We are shown 



mossy sun-dial and a long de- 
serted garden-seat, with some garden 
growths still st^ggling against 
weedy neglect. Amidst these, in 
the foreground, one single flower 
is definitely shown, evidently the 
'bull's eye* (so to say) of the inter- 
est ; and this one oonspicuons bloom, 
astonishing to relate, is a wUd rose, 
— not the finest garden rose that 
the painter's palette could produce. ' 
A more curious and perfect example 
of blunder in the business of ex- 
pressing a given subject conld not 
be found or even invented. The 
motto is from Campbell's 'Lines 
written on Visiting a Scene in Ar- 
gyleshire,' 

Yet wanderiDg, I found on m j ruinoTU iralk, 
By the dial-stone aged and green, 

One rose of the wilderness left on its stalk, 
To mark where a garden had been. 

The poet's phrase, ' One rose of the 
wilderness ' has misled the painter. 
'One rose in the wilderness'! woidd 
have been clearer, if slightly less 
melodious ; and I think it a pity 
that Campbell did not so write it. 
(Goldsmith, by the bye, in his ''De- 
serted Village' has touched the same. 
theme with more nature and sim- 
plicity.) But the meanine is indi». 
putable, for by no poesibihiy could 
a dog-rose 'mark where a garden 
had been.' 

In any case, and putting Gamp- 
bell aside, the Painter's bnainess 
was to express a place, amidst a 
wilderness, where a garden had 
been. One would have sapposed 
that a very moderate amoimt of 
feeling of the subject, or, wanting 
that, a very slight modicum of reflec- 
tion upon it, would have saved him 
from this wonderful Wild Rose. 

Mr. Leighton's * Eastern Slinger 
Scaring Birds in the Harvest Time: 
Moonrise,' shows us ripe wheat, 
gold-red in the cloudless twilighl^ 
into which rises a full moon. O0 
a wooden platform, lifting hiia 
above the level of the ears of conif ' 
stands up against the akj a neai^ 
naked figure, occupying the whd)0 



1875] 



Artist and Griitc. 



263 



field of view, gigantesqne, por- 
tentons, minatory. He whirls 
around his head a sling from which 
the whizzing stOne has jnst been 
released, and gazes after the mis- 
sile with eager, even terrifying 
earnestness; Danger,* deadly con- 
tention, some imminent tragic issue 
— such is the effect flashed into our 
imagination by a first look at this 
picture. But it is a scene of Har- 
vest-iFmition — a Field of Kipe Com 
ready for the reaper, with a tranquil 
full'- moon rising over it. The 
towering gladiatorial slinger is but 
scaring away birds — as is also tiie 
small figure seen in the background. 
That this Picture has a Subject 
cannot be questioned, nor what that 
stlbject is ; the catalogue tells us. 

The Painter wanted to set a 
naked man against a twilight sky ; 
the slinging gave an emphatic 
action ; the ears of wheat and the 
rifidng moon gave tints and * tones * 
of value. Well and good. Let us 
su^^pose the pictorial part done t'O 
perfection. The fact remains that 
the Subject and the Pictorial Effect 
do not merely fail to agree, but 
are in violent opposition to each 
other. 

Given the Subject, the treatment 
might have shown us the broad 
wavy sea of golden corn under 
translucent dome of purple twilight, 
beginning to aclmowledge the 
serene advent of the moon : then the 
bird-scarers islanded on their little 
platforms, seen against the sky, in 
such attitude and composition as 
might best agree with the whole 
effect ; strange and quaint figures 
perhaps, pathetic in a way, belong- 
ing to the scene and blending into 
it as in nature. It is unnecessary 
to discuss whether or not the Sub- 
ject is a good one. This way of 
treating it would, at all events, be 
consistent and satisfactory. 

Nine painters out of ten will re- 
peat, I know, — * He wanted a nearly 
naked figure in action against the 
sky ; he has got a very &ir motif for 



that, what more need be asked?' 
And the picture in reality is a highly 
finished Study of a nearly naked 
Man against a twilight sky, in the 
act of whirling a Sling. The com 
is a mere accessory, and, ijpideed, 
could be done without. It does 
supply a vwHf — true; but, as here 
treated, the suggestions made to 
the imagination by the ripe com 
and rising moon are disturbed and 
even outraged by the dominating 
Figure. The general effect on one's 
soul is of discord, not harmony. 
You cannot at one and the same 
time deal adequately with a subject 
alive with human interest, and care 
about notliing but the drawing and 
colouring of a well-placed Figure or 
Figures. A work of Pictonal Art 
ought to gratify the eye: true. 
When it does this feat— so ex- 
quisite and so difficult in its higher 
successes — artists are not willing 
that more should be demanded. 
But Art itself claims to have more 
expected of it. It can do much 
more ; it can satisfy the imagvnaiion 
with a sense of harmonious beaaiy ; 
and whatever Subject it may have, 
from a tuft of violets to X<ear in the 
storm, that also must form part of 
the harmony. 

The picture of the Chelsea Peur 
sioners at Church has been with 
justice warmly praised by the 
critics of the press. The war-worn 
and time-worn Veterans sit in 
rows, in their red frocks, mostly 
prayer-book in hand, listening to. 
the religious service; in the back- 
ground a sprinkling of civilians 
of both sexes is added to the con- 
gregation. That is the subject, 
and a good subject. The painter 
has made careful studies of the 
scene ; the old men are portraits ; . 
in detail and in ensemble the 
effect is doubtless very truthful, if 
entirely prosaic; and we are im- 
pressed much as if we were present 
at the service. But the picture 
has, we find, a double title. The 
Last Muster — Sunday at the Boydl 



264 



Artist and Critic, 



[Angnst 



Hospital, Chelsea; and on looking 
for the meaning of the first name, 
we discover an incident which is 
thus described by an experienced 
and sympathetic critic (Athen(Bum, 
June 5), who undoubtedly has pos- 
sessed himself rightly of the painter's 
intention : * An old soldier, placed at 
the end of one of the benches, has 
just answered the last call, and 
ceased to live rather than died, so 
softly and silently that his neigh- 
bour knew it not for a time, but he 
now turns and anxiously shakes 
the lifeless wrist enquiringly rather 
than with surprise or pain. It is 
clear, however, that this man who 
walked to the bench will have to 
be carried away. . . . This group 
of two soldiers is very pathetic, and 
finely thought out.' 

I had myself seen and admired 
the picture before hearing any cri- 
ticism or comment upon it, and, 
being sure of the general subject, I 
had taken little or no note of the 
title. It startled me to hear of this 
Dead Pensioner, and I was even in- 
credulous at first ; but soon became 
convinced that the picture is un- 
questionably meant to be taken thus. 

Now, first, the man (luckily) does 
not look dead or dying ; until told so 
by external authority I had not, as I 
say, suspected it, and I find that 
others were equally unaware of the 
fact. Second: to slip by-the-bye into 
the middle of a large composition of 
many figures so overwhelmingly im- 
pressive an incident as a sudden 
death, and give the work its title 
from this, is entirely outrageous to 
the imaginative sense of ' keeping ' 
in subject. Given, say, the subject 
of the Old Pensioners at Church, 
you fill with it a large canvas, and 
put in row after row of carefully 
painted figures, each with his indi- 
vidual character, all decently occu- 
pied with the Church Service. You 
have now just two more old men left 
to paint, and some clever friend or 
your own evil genius suggests, 
*' Make one of them dying or dead,' 



and at once your subject becomes 
vastly nobler, as well as immeasur- 
ably more interesting to the pub- 
lie ; — and call it (another happy 
thought) The Last Muster,* 

But what a mistake ! Name 
the picture Chelsea Peiisioners at 
ChurcJi, and this old man would 
interest us with the others, and we 
might ask ourselves, 'Why is his 
neighbour touching him on the 
sleeve ? ' without needing a definite 
reply. He is perhaps drowsy, fieunt, 
a veil has fallen over his conscious- 
ness, as not seldom happens in ex- 
treme age. 

Even then, it seems to me, the 
two prominent figures suggestive 
of incident by their attitudes would 
attract too much attention and 
break the true subject — ' Old Pen- 
sioners at Church.' 

Given as subject, * An Old Chel- 
sea Pensioner dying during Church 
Service,' and a different treatment 
would be necessary throughout. 

Looking at the Academy picture 
as it stands, the harm is mainly in the 
title chosen. Apart from that, the real 
subject remains on the whole well 
expressed in a way ; the doubt being 
still reserved as to whether the old 
man with closed eyes, emphasised as 
he is, be not out of harmony. I 
think he decidedly is. Had the 
pensioner been made unmistakahhj 
dead or dying, the vice would then 
have been rooted in the work itself. 

If the painter really * thought out ' 
(as his Critic says) and worked in 
this large picture to express the 
death of the Pensioner, we have one 
of those cases before us in which 
failure is more fortunate than suc- 
cess. Take it how we will, this 
picture, as regards subject, remains 
unsatisfactory. 

Mr. Almu Tadema's favourite 
subjects are the houses and furniture 
of pagan Rome, with appropriate 
figures. But that certain dramatic 
subjects are well within his reach is 
sufficiently proved by his picture of 
the savage young Frankish Princes 



1875] 



Artist and Gritic, 



265 



practising the use of weapons in 
presence of their father and mother, 
and that of Clandias trembling 
behind the tapestry. In each of 
these, something is pictorially ex- 
pressed which cannot fail to arrest 
the attention and excite the imagina- 
tion; and by the title you are re- 
ferred (fairly I think) to an Historic 
basis, which is or ought to be in the 
memory of a spectator of average 
cultivation. Moreover, where you 
have a real historic basis, and have 
really given pictorial expression to 
an incident, you have a right to 
elucidatory quotation (within pro- 
per limits) so far as seems necessary 
to put your spectators in general at 
the point of view of one acquainted 
with the recorded facts. 

Mr. Tadema's triple design, in 
the Old Water-colour Gallery this 
year, seemed to me open to objec- 
tion in point of subject. The first 
drawing of the three expressed 
pictorially a diumatic situation well 
fitted for painting ; the Dead Wo- 
man in the second might be almost 
any dead woman ; the Miracle in 
the third does not explain itself, and 
when explained, by help of the 
much too lengthy printed quotation, 
is without meaning or interest ; to 
which is to be added that it is at 
least very questionable for an artist 
of our time to paint, in sequence to 
two pictures depending en matter of 
fact tragic human interest, a third 
showing, with equally realistic 
treatment, a legendary miracle as 
occurring before our eyes, that is in 
precisely its most incredible and 
ridiculous aspect. Taking the whole 
work, it is far from expressing pic- 
torially any such thing as * The Tra- 
gedy of an Honest Wife.' 

In the same Gallery two years ago 
was a drawing of another class by 
the same remarkable Artist: a 
curvilinear wayside seat of marble, 
inscribed with the name of a Eoman 
Emperor, three or four wayfarers 
resting, two others passing on 
through the autumnal landscape and 



the falling beech-leaves. Here is an 
entirely delightful subject, complete 
within itself; simple, and without 
any hint of narrative or dramatic in- 
cident, yet endlessly suggestive ; free 
of individual sentiment or passion, 
but profoundly pathetic. The yel- 
lowing foliage of autumns long past, 
the massive stone seat (which has 
melted like snow), the bye-gone men 
and women resting there, the mighty 
Boman Empire itself, are softly 
summoned up out of Hhe dark 
backward and abysm of time.' 

Mr. Albert Moore has this year 
in the Academy three very small 
and very exquisite designs : * A 
Flower Walk ' — a woman among 
flowers ; ' A Palm Fan ' — a woman 
in a very thin robe lying on a sofa, 
the fan close by ; * Pansies ' — a 
woman sitting on a sofa ; a purple 
pansy on the floor, and the sugges- 
tion of others, or at least of their 
purple, on the sofa-cover. More- 
over we are to suppose that there 
are pensees in the lady's brain. 

The title of this last is of the pun- 
ning sort, pretty enough in its way 
and perhaps allowable ; but the cus- 
tom of seeking for clever titles is a 
snare. To really work out Pansies — 
pensees — as the suhjectj the woman 
ought to have been unmistakably in. 
a Ixance of sweet meditation ; and in 
her lap might have been a scroll ; for 
I feel convinced that to make a Pic> 
ture there ought always to be a 
Tnotif, however slight, pictorially 
expressed. Were there a purple 
anemone, instead of a pansy, on 
the floor, the present Design would 
really remain unaltered — a Woman 
in classic drapery seated on a sofa. 

'A Palm Fan* and * Pansies* 
might very easily have been made 
Pictures, but ^^the Artist seems to 
have deliberately chosen to omit 
motif (except indeed in his titles — 
his too, as if he had not had the full 
courage of his opinions). As it is, 
we get in each case a Female Figure 
posed, with accessories, for the sake 
of a certain pictorial effect, and with- 



266 



Artist and Critic, 



[August 



out expression of character, incident, 
or sentiment, either self-tnrolved 
av reaching to anything external. 
Finished Studies would perhaps 
be^the right description of them. 
From the title and the damsel's 
gossamer garment ' A Palm Fan ' 
might be thought to express or sug- 
gest the luxury of coolness in warm 
weather; but the heat evaded is no- 
where pictorially hinted. Given that 
as motif, a little casement opening 
on-feummer or curtained from the 
outside glow, or a bunch of roses 
(say) or one rich rose with a bee on 
it, might have been used to express 
warm weather (slightly or emphati- 
cally) in painters' language; and the 
picture of the lightly draped Female 
Figure curled on a sofa would then, 
td me at least, have been still more 
delightful than it now is. 

I should guess this admii'able Art- 
ist's creed possibly to be that the 
pictorial qualities of a good picture 
are of such exquisitely peculiar 
value that the mind had better be 
allowed to drink them in, as thirst- 
ing for beauty, to repose dn them 
in a trance of delight, to rejoice in 
them, love them, almost worship 
them — and that saliency of subject 
tends to interfere with this mood of 
enjoylhent, to disturb, confuse, and 
vulgarise it. The pleasures flowing 
from a pure triumph of pictorial art 
are subtle, mysterious, and inex- 
haustible; and when you connect 
them with distinctly intellectual 
suggestions, you limit and lower 
the artistic suggestiveness, you clip 
and pedestrianise the winged joy of 
pure art. Moreover, in allying pic- 
torial art with the more material 
and definite ' literary ' expression, 
you run the risk of exciting various 
degrees of interest and various 
opinions and prejudices in various 
spectators, to the detriment of the 
purely artistic effects; you appeal 
to your spectator on a ground 
where feelings and notions not 
properly connected with Art come 
into play. 

Our Artist chooses to paint a 



won^an walking among flowers ra- 
ther than 'Proserpine' or *Perdita,' 
and not a word have I to say 
against the choice; a charming 
human subject, self- expressed, re- 
mains, and one in harmony with this 
painter's method and meabs,- 'A 
Flower Walk,' — giving the oppor^ 
tunity of bringing- together, fetni- 
nine and floral beauty in -mutual 
relation . Here there is a motif J aiid 
the only possible objection ib* that 
the walk here is perhaps not cha- 
racteristically flowery, nor the 
woman's face characteristic of the 
ei^'^ment of such a walk. The 
* PjCraa Fan' would have lost nothing 
whatever, so far as I can see, by 
having a more distinct inotif; on 
the contrary, would liave gained 
much to the imagination. 

*What you suggest would have 
interfered with the scheme of co- 
lour,' n:ight perhaps be replied; 
but would not this be saying;' in 
reality, that the artist had either 
neglected to consider in due time 
the work as -"a -w1k)1^, subject and 
treatment together, or else found 
himself unabl6 to overcome- or 
would not take the trouble to over- 
come the difficulties in the v^ay of 
in(iluding adequate pictorial inotif 
along with other things ? Will 'any- 
one go so far as to assert- that a 
motif in perfect harmony with the 
technical qualitiies of a pictctrial 
work, does not increase its delight- 
fulness? 

As matter of fact, each of th^se 
three Designs, in all probability, 
was never meant to be anything'but 
a Study of form and colour. What 
then is the sti hject ? * Precisely form 
and colour,' the artist might pos- 
sibly reply, — 'and these are pre- 
cisely the things I care about in 
pictorial art.' There are several 
painters, some of them men of high 
and peculiar gifts, now at work ap- 
parently on some such principle as 
this, and the matter disserves far- 
ther investigation, all the moi^' be^ 
cause they are tme-bom arttstfl. 

Mr. Moore's pictures, these and 



1875] 



Artist and Critic. 



267 



others much larger, have been de- 
scribed as ' decorative ;' so have 
Mr. Poynter's 'Golden Age' and 

* Preparing for the Feast.' Now, I 
have never met any satisfactory, 
definition of 'decorative art,' nor, 
after various attempts, am I able 
to frame one. All good pictorial 
and sculptural art is decorative 
in one sense — pleasing to the eye. 
To please the eye is essential. But 

* decorative art,' taken strictly, re- 
fers to a limited and special depart- 
ment of art, and to define its limits 
is the difficulty. I hope on a future 
occasion to go further into these 
matters ; at present it may suffice to 
note that a necessary characteristic 
of a decorative work seems to be its 
studied adaptation to a particular 
place and space. I purposely omit 
all reference to the nature of the 
work itself, either in subject or treat- 
ment, Ending further brief definition 
impossible. But a step towards 
cleai*ness may be taken by asking. 
Does ' decorative ' mean precisely 
the same as 'ornamental'? 

Mr. Bruskin {Stones of Venice j I. 
XX., xxi., &c.) uses the words as 
synonymous — and he speaks, we 
may notice (p. 232), of some points 
in regard to Ornament, a^ ' by far 
the most difficult questions I have 
ever tried to work out respecting 
any branch of art.' 

Now I would humbly propose (for 
though synonyms are joy to the 
Poet they are bane to the reasoner) 
that 'decoration' and 'ornament' 
be used as different, though not un- 
allied, terms ; and that the first be 
defined as art-ivork adapted to a 
given place and space; the second 
(included in the first and more 
limited), art-work strictly and ew- 
phatically subordinated to a given 
place and space. The Ornamental 
necessarily stops short at a very low 
mark, and loses its virtue if it ven- 
ture a step further. Its virtue is 
subordination, audit expresses that, 
by modification or by arrangement^ 
in every form it employs. The 
Decorative may rise to the highest 



pitch of art. Baphael's so-called 
arabesques are .in the one clasa;: 
the frescoes of many thiice-famouB/ 
men in the other, as well as pictured 
of Tintoret, Veronese, and others. 

Now, Mr. Poynter's two pictures 
are clearly Decorative work ; but 
none of Mr. Mpbre^s three . works 
bears the evidence of intended 
adaptation to a pajr^ticular place and 
space — whether we consider them; 
or not as designs to be repeated on 
a larger scale — and there is no good 
reason for calling them ' decorative,' 
or for examining them from any spe- 
cial standpoint. Why, then, have 
they been called ' decorative ' ? 
Perhaps it is because many people 
associate with this phrase the no- 
tion of a certain kind of pictorial 
treatment diffi^rent from that used 
for an ' easel picture,' a treatment 
wherein qualities which are cri« 
ticised by the eye . alone — sen- 
suous, visible qualities of art-work 
— have, and, it is believed, ought 
to have, greater proportionate im- 
portance than in an ' easel picture. ' 
Herein lies a mistake^ as we have 
already hinted, in the matter of 
theory, so far as any conclusive de- 
finition of the word ' decorative ' is 
supposed to be involved ; but, in 
matter of fact, a large nunlber of. 
decorative works are of this characX. 
ter. 

And it certainly would seem sa, 
if Mr. Albert Moore and other artists 
of the same persuasion, in present- 
ing pictorially, say a Eeminina 
Figure, selected as far as possible 
those qualities which give eye-plea^ 
sure by means of form and colour^, 
and the sense of pictorial skill and 
deliberately and intentionally omii>«.: 
ted everything else. Scarcely any* ! 
thing is given that could appeal to 
the intellect or the affections, or to 
any kind of human sympathy whati; 
ever which is more than skm deepi^ 
Not only is there no variety of action . 
or passion, no emotion, but there is; . 
as fiw as possible, no easpressum; 
of character. All that . is presented 
along with charm of lines and tints 



268 



Artist and Critic. 



[Augast 



is the feeling of animal vitality. I 
have heard it asserted that the very- 
aim and glory of this School of 
Painting (which, if this were true, 
might fairly he called the Mindless 
School) is to represent the human 
form as a vehicle of fine drawing 
and colouring, and, as far as may 
be, to leave out, or reduce to a 
minimum, everything else that 
usually impresses us in looking at a 
man or a woman. The expression 
of character, clearest in the face, is 
what chiefly interests and afiects hu- 
man beings in the looks of each other, 
but our Painters will not let us 
have it ; we must admire pictorial 
effects and pictorial skill, and as far 
as possible, nothing else. We are 
to care extremely little, it would 
seem, for the humanity which is 
in the human soul and informs the 
body with expression and charac- 
ter. The charge of working on 
such a principle would be a serious 
one, if true, To give us the human 
bodily form merely for the amuse- 
ment of the eye, and cut off* so far as 
possible from all its associations, in- 
tellectual, moral, afiectional, or emo- 
tional, would be to do something in 
a high degree unnatural, — the more 
unnatural the more careful, skilful, 
and technically successful the work. 
Also, the larger the scale of the work 
the more objectionable must such 
treatment be felt to be. 

I do not wish to be understood 
for a moment to assert that Mr. 
Albert Moore, who, being a man of 
true genius, has unbounded possi- 
bilities in him, holds any such creed. 
I merely criticise the works which 
he has exhibited this year and last, 
and find that they appear to point 
in this direction. 

And I will maintain that to pre- 
sent — ^not the highest of all visible 
forms, the Human, but any natural 
object whatever, pictorially (re- 
serving the case of ornamental 
treatment proper), in such a way 
as to announce or imply disregard 
of the associations proper to it in 



the human mind, is unnatural and 
utterly wrong. And I use the words 
' natural * and ' unnatural ' in rela- 
tion to all the faculties of a healthy 
human mind or soul acting in com- 
bination ; for if Art does not appeal 
to these. Art must come down 
from the high place claimed for it. 
When William Hunt chose, as he 
so often did, to paint a broken 
branch of may or apple blossom, 
and a ruined nest thrown on the 
ground (but not with any pathetic 
suggestion), rather than the flowers 
blooming in their natural places, and 
forming the safe bowers of happy 
birds, rather even than in a glass or 
on a table, he thought — if the ques- 
tion occurred to him at all — *No 
matter! so long as I get such forms 
and tints as I prefer to make a pic- 
ture out of — and a great many 
people agree with him. I cannot. 
Such work carries the assertion 
that the mere eye-charming quali- 
ties matter so much that every- 
thing else is hardly worth consider- 
ing. Those qualities do conv^ 
a special delight, expressing (which 
is the main thing) a peculiar and 
mysterious human faculty. So 
admirable is it (say, in eflect, 
many artists) that the things 
chosen whereby to present this 
faculty matter nothing, or next to 
nothing; they are merely the 
vehicle. But, on the other hand, 
when you take natural forms and 
represent them realistically, you 
take something already appropri- 
ated, already intervoven with human 
life, already brimfal of associations. 
Does any artist think it his function 
to make a mere exquisite pattern 
out of these ? If so, let him step 
frankly into the narrower domain 
of Ornamental Art, and submit 
willingly to its law of subordina- 
tion. 

If this be true of a primrose or 
a bird's nest, how emphatically true 
must it be of the Human Form! 
I am inclined to believe that 
every design consisting of an uti' 



1875] 



Artist and Critic. 



269 



motivated figure or composition 
ought to be considered (if as more 
than a study) as 'Ornamental 
Work/ and treated with distinct 
expression of subordination in its 
arrangement. In Raphael's * ara- 
besques ' are introduced many com- 
plete human figures. The Sistine 
Prophets and Sibyls I should call 
decorative; the interposed figures 
of naked boys, ornamental. 

Mr. Albert Moore's work gives 
me great delight ; and, besides 
the deliciousness of colour, these 
three very little designs in the 
Academy have left the impression 
of life-size on the memory, doubtless 
owing to a certain largeness and 
dignity of treatment. Then why 
ask more ? Because it appears to 
me that the works assume to be 
Pictures proper, and do not fulfil 
the character. 

I want a motif (I must repeat) ; 
and a pictorial expression of it. Not 
any particular kind or degree of ex- 
pression; but let there be some, of 
an appropriate kind. The contour 
of a cheek and the tip of a nose are 
not enough. The notion of coolness 
and rest would not have been dis- 
turbed but enhanced by a look of 
pleasurable repose ; nor the delight- 
fulness of a Woman walking among 
Flowers by a more interesjSng face 
reflecting the sweetness of such a 
scene ; nor * Pansies * by a look of 
more indubitable meditation — not 
to speak again of the defective use 
of accessories, if we consider these 
designs as Pictures. 

It is certainly true, as artists 
complain, that stories in pictures, 
not art, are what most people look 
at, and that this fact leads in 
countless cases to inferior pictures 
being admired and bought. Still, a 
picture surely might even tell an 



interesting story and be good art 
besides? Hogarth painted right 
well. And a story- picture, for one 
thing, serves to educate in art num- 
bers of people who are attracted 
to it mainly by the story, as those 
who read Shakspeare for incident 
catch fragrances of poetry by the 
way. But let it not be supposed for a 
moment that I am one of those who 
look eagerly for dramatic or even 
storytelling incident in a picture. 
I very much more enjoy subjects of 
another kind ; those which are sug- 
gestive to the imagination, and not 
suggestive of one thing, however 
noticeable, but of many things, so 
that the picture, even while the 
eyes rejoice in it, is an open door 
through which thought flies on as 
in a dream. Such are Mr. Millais' 
Old Knight carrying Two Children 
across a Ford (forgetting its sham 
quotation from * Sir Isumbras *), Mr. 
Leighton*s Greek Youth teaching a 
Maiden to stop a flageolet, and his 
' Cleobulus and Cleobule ;' and such 
(opening direct into an Enchanted 
Region) Mr. Burne Jones's * Night,' 
that steps from the sea and stars 
over a marble threshold into her 
field of fast-asleep daisies, — with 
many another work of that pictorially 
inventive brain. Nay more; I 
would rather myself have an Orna- 
mental Design by Mr. Albert Moore 
than the biggest and most intellec- 
tual Dramatic or Historic Picture 
by this or that R.A. whom I could 
name. But this does not touch the 
question whether Pictorial Art can 
do its best and highest for us by 
appeahng, as far as possible, exclu- 
sively to the eye. 

I have only touched on some im- 
portant points; but readers have 
for this time had their patience 
tried more than enough. 

P. W. 



270 [August 



LETTER TO THE EDITOR ON SOME MISREPRESENTATIONS IN 'THE 

DEBATE ON THE FOURTH GOSPEL/ 

The peculiar manner in which F. R. C. has met my arguments in the debate on the 
Fourth Gospel, renders an appeal to your justice necessary^ in yinddi cation of myself 
and of the facts I stated. Let me, however, first show that in confinirig myself to one 
part of this controversy, and even in it to the principal arguments only, I dealt fairly, 
and was not actuated by the dishonest motive of passing in. silence what I felt could not 
be answered. F. R. C/s objections to the Fourth Gospel rested partly on its supposed 
discrepancies with the Synoptists, but chiefly on the charge that its writer had betrayed 
* positive unacquaintance with Jewish law, habit, and thought.' Everyone will see that 
the first line of reasoning could not be satisfactorily dealt with in the limits of a maga- 
zine article, each alleged discrepancy requiring detailed examination. Nor, indeed, was it 
needful, since the same objections have been frequently raised before, and, as I believe, 
satisfactorily met in books readily accessible to all. It was otherwise with what I may 
call the Jewish part of the argument, which could only be treated, or tested by those who 
had made this their special study. Accordingly I confined myself to that aspect- of 
the controversy. Nor yet was it necessary here to answer eoery point raised by ¥» R C. 
This would have been impossible within the compass of an article, and out of place as 
addressed to the general reader. If I proved that the principal facia on which R R. C. 
relied were incorrect, and that the information on which tney rested was inaccurate 
and untrustworthy, minor details might safely be left alone, so far as the controversy 
on the Fourth Gospel was concerned. 

Closely viewed, F. R. 0. has only ventured on direct contradiction of my &cts in 
two instances. With what right will presently appear. 

F. R. C. adheres to his statement that the writer of the First Gospel was ' neither a 
Pharisee nor & Sadducec, but very probably a Karaite.' The anachronism here is so gross, 
and the implied account of Karaite doctrine so incorrect, as alone to impugn the trust- 
worthiness of his assertions on Jewish history. For, I. Ka.Tahm'wsa ik ichisM /romj 
the Pharisees and Sadducecs parties within, the Synagogue. 2: Karaite doctrine is in 
all points, save one, so identical with that of the ancient Saddueees, that both Jewish 
and Christian writers have regarded the Karaites as the successors of the Saddueees. 
It may have been in this respect that F. R. C's referees spoke of the Karaites as existing 
prior to the origination of that schism. 3. We know exactly the occasion and the rise 
of K^raism. ft originated with Anan ben Da^y about 762, who, being the lawful suc- 
cessor to the office of Besh-Glutha, or patriarch of the Babylonian Jews,- was passed over 
on account of his heretical views, and obliged to migrate to Jerusalem with his principal 
followers, where he founded a synagogue, and was excommunicated by the Rabbinists, and 
in turn excommunicated them. The reuler will find a very good account of * the rise 
of Karaism ' and of its doctrines at the dose of Dr. Ginsburg*s article on the Saddueees 
in the third edition of Kitto's Cyd,, pp. 734, &c. 

Similarly F. R. C. still maintains, in the face of all the authorities I quoted, that 
excommunicaiion was unknown in Palestine * stante templo.^ As citations from tbe Mishnah 
might have been liable to the objection that they oated after the destruction of the 
Temple, I mentioned the fact tliat there was in the Temple itself a gate by which the 
excommunicated entered, when those who met them would address them in words of 
admonition to repentance, that so they might be restored. 

On the authority of Lempereur (who is contradicted by Selden and all other writers) 
F. R. C. will have it, that the term which is universally rendered' * excommunicated ' refers, 
not to such, but to those whom a certain well-known physical accident had befallen. In 
that case, however, what could be the meaning of an admonition to repentance as ad- 
dressed to them ? But, to put the matter beyond controversy, here is proof positive that 
excommunication was pronounced in Palestine two centuries before the destruction of the 
Temple. In Taanith iii. 8 we have an account of a certain Honi^ sumamed the Wonder- 
worker, who in a manner almost blasphemous constrained Heaven to literal compliance 
with his requests ; upon which Simon ben Sheiach sent him this message : ' If thou wert 
not Honi, I would have pronounced upon thee the ban ' {Niddui is the word used). As 
Honi and Simon flourished about 100 years before Christy what becomes of F. R, C.'s 
confident assertions : ' It is the distinct testimony of Hebrew literature that the punish- 
ment of excommimication was only resorted to out of Palestine ; ' and again : ' To an 



1875] 271 

accnrate scholar the introduction of this non-Judean punishment into the course of the 
narrative would alone be sufficient to impugn its authentic character ' ? ' 

It is not easy to deal with F. B. C.'s assertions on the subject of blasphemy, so 
adroitly has he turned the question. Of course, I never thought of denying either 
that blasphemy was punishable by death, or that in blaspheming the Name Jehovah 
had to be actually pronounced. Quotations, therefore, on those points from the 
Pentateuch or the Mishnah only lead away from the real question at issue between us. 
This was, whether the mere utterance of the Name Jehovah was in itself blasphemy and 
punishable by death. E. K. C. maintained this, and I denied it, quoting the Mishnah 
and the best Jewish writers on the subject. But plain common sense can here decide 
between us. It is a fact that on the Day of Atonement tlie Tligh Priest uttered the 
Name Jehovah not less than ten times ; that the priests pronounced it every day in the 
Temple when speaking the blessing; that at one time it was introduced into the 
common mode of salutation, as tradition has it, on the authority of Boaz ; and that it 
was made the subject of regular teaching in the schools. How, then, could the mere 
utterance of the Name Jehovah have been blasphemy and involvevl the punishment of 
death? 

While on this subject I must protest in the strongest language against a misrepre- 
sentation of my statements, happily rare even in the annals of controversy. The reader 
may remember that, according to F. B. C, the condemnation of Jesus by the Sanhedrim 
was solely caused by their mishearing the words which, the Loijd had said, and mis- 
imderstandlng them for the utterance of thq Name Jehovah. While, of course, denying 
that the mere utterance of that Name was ii^ itself blasphemy, I had written of F, S. C^s 
representation of the matter : * Not to speak of the utter puerility of the whole trans- 
action vthc'^^ in that light , I have to say that the man who, under siich circumatanceSy 
would keep silence, and allow a judicial murder to be committed which a brief explana- 
tion might have averted, is far more guilty than those who inflicted it.' Will it be 
believed that by omitting the words which I have italicised F. E. C. charges me with 
characterising as ' utter puerility ' not his representation of the matter, but ' the whole 
tranisaction upon which the Christian faith depends,' and with implying that ' the Great 
Victim of Calvary w<is far more guilty than those who inflicted His death ' I He has 
read it with * a shudder,' and he. appeals against me ' to the verdict of the English 
public'! .In the name of truth and justice I appeal to every candid reader against; a 
charge so utterly unwarranted and injurious, founded on the omission of my wcwds an4 
the consequent perversion of my evident meaning. 

I am imhappily confined within the limits of a letter, and it is plainly impossible to 
nfnte every misrepresentation and misstatement. Here are a few. I had written that 
almost *ani/ one Mishnic or Talmudic tractate' would convince the student that 
* constantly later practices are ascribed to earlier authorities.' By leaving out the 
Qnalifjring words * any one* and taking the particle or in its conjunctive instead of its 
oisjanetive sense, F. B. C. charges me with ' an unseholarly collusion of the Mishnah 
wiUi the Ghemara ' ! Again, the universal mode of Talmudic quotation adopted by 
svsry Christian and Jewish writer who is competent to appeal to the originals, and 
^oes not, as F. B. C, exclusively confine himself to imperfect Latin translations, is as 
follows : For the Mishnah, for ex. Sanh. i. I ; for the corresponding portion of the 
Jenualem Talmud : Jer. Sanh. i. i ; and for that of the Babylonian, page and column, 
*^7iSanh. i. a. F. B. C. stigmatises this as *the Jewish mode of citing the Talmud, 
vbidi makes no distinction between the Mishnah and the Ghemara ' ! He is * pained ' by 
^ doubting the chronological or historical accuracy of Talmudic data about * details of 
^|di and practice,' and quotes as an instance an enactment which the Talmud traces to 
l^vid. He would indeed be a bold man who» kno%ing them, would contend for the 
^nological accuracy of most of these data. Does F. B. C. believe in the beih-din of 
Sam and its enactment? Will he trace the institution of the three daily prayers 
^^•pectively to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob ? Does he believe that the first benediction 
1* the 'grace after meat' was composed by Moses when the manna fell, the second by 
Joslnui on entering the Holy Land, the third by David and Solomon ? In the various 
Talmudic tractates fifly-five Halachoth&Tc ascribed to ' Moses from Sinai,' one ordinance 

' Two instances will show F. B. C.'s peculiar mode of quotation. He refers to Bux- 
^ for the statement that those under Niddai were forbidden to enter an assembly of 
t*n persons. But why not complete the quotation from Buxtorf, as follows : Non sedent 
Jtuta eum ad quatuor ulnas, Docere tamen potest etdiscere cum aliis separatim. Again, 
when quoting Maimonides, Bartenora, and Fagius, as translating teraklin by palace, 
why not say, that it was Surenhusiw^ Latin summary of them that was cited, and that 
Surenhuys himself translates teraJdin by triclinium ? 



272 [August 187 

to Phinehiis. at least eightofn to Joshua, at any rato one each to Othaiel and to Samuc 
three each to David and to Solomon, some to Jehoshaphat, to Jehoiada, to the earli( 
and later prophets, to Isaiah, to Daniel, and to th«f prophets after the exile ; thirteen ( 
fourteen to Ezni, fifteen to the men of the Great Synagogue, and so on. My veneratic 
for the Rabbis would not allow mo to reproduce some of these before a general pabli 
But for th(» historical accuracy of how many of their data would F. R. C, who hf 
cyiioted one from the time of David, like to vouch? 

A few instances more to show how this controversy has been carried on. In Marc 
F. R. C. had commented thus on John i. 19: 'No Jew could have written such 
senteuco.' In Jiil^ F. R. C. writes : * Whether the author (of the Fourth Gospel) wei 
or were not an Egyptian or Asiatic Jew no opinion was expressed/ and only contend 
that he had not been a Palestinian. The F. R. C. of March had it, that Timothy * ha 
learned Jewish tradition from his mother.' In July this is explained as only meanin 
* folk-lore,' and Beruria is instanced to prove that the Jewish law against instructin 
women in tradition was of later date — as if Beruria were not mentioned as an exceptio 
from the general rule, and as a warning example of the danger thereby incurred.* I 
March F. R. C. animadverted, that * the contents of the water-pots' (at the marriage c 
Cana) * are described in Greek measures, not in Jewish.' In July, F. R. C. writes 
*To the word metretrs no objection was raised.' In March F. K. C. wrote: *Th 
Greek triclinium was never used in Judea,* unless by schismatics from orthodoxy 
In July F. R. C. is obliged to admit that the very word has passed as teraklin into Bal 
binic liinguage ; but speaks of my ' transliteration ' (although the letters are exactly tb 
same as in the Greek, and only the vocalisation is different), and objects to myrenderin 
of teraklin, which he maintains means * palace.* But in Baba Baihray vi. 4, Uie Utrakli 
is expressly computed as * t^n (cubits) by ten ' — that is, about fifteen feet square. Cm 
this be a palace ? 

My space will not allow my continuing this review. Let the reader bear in mind, 
that the above are selected chiefly as specimens of how a position may be shifted, and 
•what statements hazarded with perfect assurance. My object was not only to refute 
the arguments of F. R. C, but to show that ' those who believe in the Johanneu 
authorship, and have learned to value it, have nothing to fear ^-om attacks such u 
those of F. R. C* That object has, I trust and believe, been attained to the satisfection 
of every impartial reader. I now gladly withdraw from a controversy on which I h*d 
only entered from a sense of duty to those readers who, valuing the God-given Word, 
might have been startled, not, indeed, by the arguments adduced, but by the confident 
tone in which tliey were urged. As for the facts in controversy between F. R. C. 9aA 
me — of course not my theologiciil inferences from them — I leave them, with confidence, 
to the impartial judgment of every competent scholar, be he Jew or Christian. 

I remain. Sir, 

Yours with much regard, 

ALFRED EDERSHEDiHi 
Bournemouth : July 13, 1875. < 



' F. R. C. argues that Timothy, not Luke, was the author of the Book of Acts, 
the supposed fact, that whenever Timothy was in company with St. Paul, he wiiW 
* we* otherwise * he* Granting F. R. C.'s premiss, what becomes of his inference i^ 
Tiew of *such a passagje as Acts xx. 4, 5 ? Of course, this, as other points raised in th» 
•controversy, has no direct bearing on the Johannean authorship of the Fourth Gospel J 
but it i» most important as showing what degree of credit should attach to an tf?"' 
dentation constructed with such disregard of the most obvious facts. 




FRASER'S MAGAZINE. 



SEPTEMBER 1875. 



O^ NATIONAL UNIVEESITIES. 



nLE MedisBval ecclesiastics 
stood at the head of literary 
ation, they were naturally in- 
nto principal posts of the civil 
Qment ; a fact which in itself 
tnted a definite connection 
en the service of the State 
le institntions in which these 
Lastics had their education, 
tablishments known to us in 
it history have any external 
rity to these. Ancient Greece 
amiliar with the idea of Na- 
Education, but it was deve- 
out of the military principle 
ining to arms, nearly as among 
orth American Indians. Mar- 
cercises, with dancing, wrest- 
•unning, were the foundation : 
ig to the lyre the verses of 
)us, Solon, Empedocles, or 
lides was a later softening: 
udy of geometry or dialectics 
became National. But Aris- 
NSiS well aware, and definitely 
ained, that no schools could 
their highest perfection until 
were organised by the State, 
hat, like gardens, they must 
ttain a good old age. Private 
ishments, as an Academy of 
, might be conducted by 
3rs of first-rate ability; but 
of necessity, depend on the 
ies of single minds. No 
ntee can be offered that, upon 
;moval of one man, a great or 
change for the worse may not 
We need the public confi- 
I, the earnest interest of so- 

„ XIT.— NO. LXIX. MEW SEBISS. 



ciety, permanent rules, and con- 
tinuity of principle. However 
valuable we must confess private 
schools to be, the establishments 
which aspire to impart the highest 
culture must necessarily be public 
and perma7ienty and in general ought 
to be under national control and 
enactment. 

The form which will be assumed 
by an institution for teaching will 
of course depend upon many cir- 
cumstances, and particularly upon 
the age of the pupils. In this 
country we are accustomed to speak 
of three gradations of these semi- 
naries, under the title of Preparatory 
Schools, Public or High Schools, 
lastly Colleges and Universities. 
The word Lyceum is used on the 
Continent nearly as in fjnglish a 
High School or Public School. To 
give definiteness, we may regard a 
Preparatory School as retaining 
pupils up to the age of twelve ; a 
Lyceum as receiving them from 
twelve to eighteen ; and a Univer- 
sity as not admitting them before 
the age of seventeen, and ordinarily 
retaining them from eighteen to 
twenty-two. It is true that the 
Scotch Universities, as did anciently 
those of England, receive students at 
a much earlier age : but this is only 
a mark that the full form which 
characterises a University is not yet 
assumed. As there was a time 
when the same practitioner was 
indifferently Surgeon, Physician, 
and Apothecary, though with the 

U2 



274 



On National Universities. 



[Sept 



progress of art and science a division 
of labour has arisen ; so there was 
a time when the same institution 
served for High School and College 
equally; but increasing culture 
brings about a separation. Unless 
we keep steadfastly in view the ave- 
rage age of the students, we cannot 
get clear ideas of the objects at 
which an institution may aim, and 
the general arrangements which are 
practicable. The nature of the 
studies, the mode of the teaching, 
the liberty to be enjoyed by the 
pupils, must essentiaUy vary with 
their age. We must not, then, be 
misled by such names as Colleges, 
to aim at something unattainable. 
Youths of seventeen and eighteen 
cannot profitably aspire to the same 
performances as young men of 
twenty-two ; and an institution will 
work under numerous disadvantages 
which endeavours to be a College 
when it ought to be a High School. 
From a University we must dis- 
tinguish those institutions which 
aim to impart strictly professional 
training, as contrasted with general 
culture. Hitherto it has appeared 
that such schools may with much 
advantage be engrafted upon Uni- 
versities, and to a certain extent 
incorporated with them, while pre- 
serving their separate existence. 
These are often called Faculties, 
Such are the Faculties of Medicine 
and of Theology in old Universities. 
They are little corporations in 
themselves, and regulate their own 
studies and degrees, though standing 
in definite relations to the Univer- 
sity in which they act. In this 
way the transition is not too abrupt 
from general to professional culture. 
A younff man after commencing his 
Professional course may continue to 
attend such general lectures as 
either conduce to eminence in his 
profession or are on other grounds 
acceptable to him. The co-operation 
of those Professors who teach 
Chemistry and Botany as abstract 
sciences, is, of course, highly valu- 



able to the practical Physicia 
to the Theologian or the I 
the lecturers on History, on ] 
ture, on Languages, on Mora 
on Jurisprudence must be rej 
as almost essential. Stil], it 
never be forgotten that the g 
cultivation of the mind is one 
and professional knowledge 
other ; and in the highest an 
state which Universities ha^ 
attained, while general cult 
made the basis, facilities ar 
given for certain kinds of 1 
sional study. 

No State that aspires at s^ 
atic rule can dispense with i: 
tions for training its future 
officers. To what age any 
lastic teaching shall continu 
depend mainly on the state of 
ledge in the period and the c 
of the government ; but wii 
advance of art and science, a 
increasing complexity of the 
machine, a more extended 
of study may be counted 
necessary. To speak gener; 
difference will anse in Unive 
according as the predominani 
ence in them is that of an in 
power, a hierarchy, or an aristc 
The imperial principle aims 
to attain in its officers ad mi 
tive ability. An imperial t 
sity, then, if good of its k 
likely to furnish abundant m( 
purely specific culture. F 
will frequent it in order to I 
skilful in law, wise in me 
competent ambtissadors or 
nistrators, prudent magis 
ready surveyors, accomplish 
chitects or astronomers, and r 
linguists. Every special occu 
which the service of the 
needs, whether civil or th 
cal, naval or military, m 
expected to find its repr^sen 
among the teachers of such 
versity. This is the first type 
pure monarchy tends to ^ 
In the second place, when 
versity is developed under t 



1875] 



On National Universities, 



2/5 



■tronage and influence of a powerful 
ecclesiastical body, all studies will 
be regarded as subordinate and sub- 
servient to that of Religion ; and if 
the notions current in the age con- 
-cerning religion be in any impor- 
tant degree erroneous, it follows 
-almost inevitably that every science 
-and ait is distorted and depraved, 
by forcing them into harmony with 
preconceived views. Nevertheless, 
.«uch sacerdotal establishments, un- 
til they fall into decay, impart an 
elevation of sentiment to their best 
members, greater than can often be 
found in the more utilitarian insti- 
tutions of despotism ; and in times 
in which the religious or priestly 
body contains all the knowledge of 
the age, perhaps no other system 
for the schools of learning is in any 
w^ay practicable. A third influence 
under which the public educational 
institutions sometimes grow up is 
that of aristocracy ; and the result 
is widely different. The rich and 
honourable, who enjoy abundant lei- 
sure, in a rude and active age love 
the sports of the field and the use 
-of arms, but in more luxurious or 
refined times call for the enjoyment 
of polite literature and elegant 
science. They cannot bear the 
drudgery of ecclesiastical lore, 
T^or do they much trouble them- 
selves about responsibility in public 
office. Neither Theology in its for- 
malities, nor Professional and Prac- 
tical Study, is likely to find much 
-encouragement in the institutions 
•which are shaped by their influence. 
Literature may be cultivated, but 
with the taste of the amateur, and 
with no great depth of learning. 
Their Universities will be places of 
fashionable resort, where elegant 
accomplishments may be acquired 
with gentlemanly manners ; but, 
unless other agencies are at work, 
Science will with difficulty strike 
any deep root. Politics, as a study, 
will have no existence. Its rules will 
be those of Party, and it will be prac- 
tically held that whoever has en- 



joyed a certain amount of general 
liberal culture is at once fit to ad- 
minister any of the high offices of 
State. Office, it is felt, is the na- 
tural right of the aristocracy. Such 
in fact was the state of feelinor at 
Rome under the later republics. 
No Universities, indeed, existed 
there ; but the aristocracy instead 
frequented Grecian schools, and 
maintained in their private houses 
learned Greeks as companions of 
their social hours. 

The old Universities of England 
were of a mixed character. Ori- 
ginally they show themselves under 
the patronage of the clergy, and 
— whether or not of ecclesiastical 
foundation in the strict sense of the 
word — were very soon subjected to 
a strong ecclesiastical pressure. 
To this day they bear — for good 
and for evil — the marks of a sacer- 
dotal origin. But from the reign 
of Elizabeth downward they be- 
came the nursery of the youthful 
members of aristocratic families, 
and thenceforth the aristocratic 
influences which I have been de- 
scribing have blended with the pri- 
mitive sacerdotal element. Acci- 
dental causes have led to a peculiar 
cultivation of Mathematics at Cam- 
bridge, as of Metaphysics at Dublin ; 
but the Mathematical course has 
not been of any specifically profes- 
sional kind, on which account it is 
praised by some and censured by 
others. 

At present let it be remarked that 
all political analogies combine to 
persuade us that inixed influences 
are much to be desired in the Uni- 
versity. Even if it be intended pecu- 
liarly for the youth of the aristocracy, 
or peculiarly for the clergy, it ought 
not on that account to be singly 
aristocratical nor singly clerical : 
but as in real life the parties will 
find a world where State and-Church, 
King and People, Lords and Com- 
mons, High and Low are mingled, so 
in the University, as a Microcosm, 
some image of all these things should 




SUtamnUio tfak. it vtn hetttx 

tiMi it H«7 fdCltkbtAee. it aeeda 

a^ iKmBr iteD be aiblABd to h— 
i«Mlni-t— Hf. IB n^ud to Uk 
IcaUng of auad aad knowledge 
■eqii rBJ 4iract>f or iabawi iadi- 
n^h; monfljr.ia lint gemiiie and 
lAMe BoUaaeM of mind iriuckcan 
Cwnrilittf ih* people without degrad- 
iB|[ iiMlL boMBK it has leaned 
^pm<le ■ rtnengtb ud 



car coutitatioe Ami the aon* and 
brodNm of Peers tn Ctmaaoaen ; 
■o tkat oar pc«n tlietnaelvee wlnle 
jomg olt«a fulfil tlu dtittes of ooro- 
raoner etat «a o»gn. In like manner, 
while anr m«A democncj- of princi- 
ple in a tJnirenitjt* to be deprecated 
M WottU (xxwtHalo jouDg locii the 
«oatn>Uen of stndjr or discipline, 
ret it aeotM to be not amiw U»t the 
jaaior part of the academicians 
■boald have their own nnderalood 
a •nd certain powers of org&ni- 
' which a portiim of demo- 
^ riwnld become blended 
oirmtio rale wliich 
t pmdominoat in every 

J penKm* are apt to tmugini; 

e direct jaiitructioo imparled 
It CnirerHity is llie sola advantage 
I tw gained from UnircrBitj'n^- 
Itoc; and lliat if eijnallj nbte 
lohing oonld br obtainod under a 
Ivalo roof, tbc benefit would be as 
^t. But AQcIi a view does not 
hnca an ttie cluniL-nts of tbe 
tstioD. In grmt and permanent 
K>rotiouH, Huch ibS airo the Uiii- 



L tW pnib 

whiti OBBOt be BflMsred bj K aoBO- 
iMtictat. Ittsi^eeaagnaXtelt 
in a UniicTnty, for it is a waoloi 
casting awsT of one pecsliar adns- 
taee,if a tUAmt ia fbnaed to Ink 
to a siBgleteaidber br hif instractiga. 
Be o«^t to have access to tlw lev 
tons of a muneTOBfi ;et select band, 
Koeit as it is ahsointelT ~ 
to find in less mas 
Even so, the benefit to the 
br no means depends solelj on Ae 
teaching. The anang<enMfits wUffc 
faciUtate stodj to the stodioua, aad 
aDow all to accept fiiends and 
asociat«« of Btndj from a large ^A 
Tariooa aocdety, are an immenaa ad- 
vantage. Uacb less does the bei^t 
depend aolelj on the erailifufM of Am 
teach«T«, strtctlj- eo eaDed ; that ^ 
on the accnracf and sonndoes* of 
the learning : it depends on aeal for 
knowled^, for truth, for justica^ 
for wisdom — in short, on the spirit 
of the place i on the cntfansiMn 
wbicb is stirred np by persons and 
Itiiugs aroond. Wbea the intdlecl 
of youth ifi opening to an ondep- 
standing' of the great world ; when 
tlie mind begins to awaken to its 
own powers, and its action ta be- 
come delightful to itself ; Its^mpfc 
titles need to be Idndied on the aide 
of everything generoDs, noble, and 
Imc. Eicelleut were it if it oonld 
Bee in eveiy teacher bow it 
he loves Irath, bow 




1875] 



On National Universities, 



277 



pursues it; how he lays aside pre- 
JQidice, and abandons detected error ; 
how he lives to learn, and by learn- 
ing enlarges his charity ; how he 
sympathises with justice, and hates 
all wickedness and oppression. This 
is the best of sermons to a young 
mind. It is trae that a large 
diversity will necessarily exist in 
the different subjects taught ; nor 
can the same moral influence arise 
equally out of all ; and in any case 
it is beyond the measure of human 
perfection to expect that all the 
public teaxihers will ever enforce 
such lessons by their conduct. 
Nevertheless, if such is, on the whole^ 
the pervading spirit of a place, its 
effect on the mind is more valuable 
than any inculcation of detailed 
knowledge. In defect, however, of 
such influences on the part of 
public teachers, there is a whole- 
some stimulus afforded by the young 
men to one another, unless the 
University regulations are de- 
plorably bad. Of course they may 
corrupt one another. Even in 
periods when the great majority 
used to pass their time in listless- 
ness, voluptuousness, or roaring 
debauchery, yet out of so great a 
number there would always be a 
select few who loved and cultivated 
knowledge, and would be drawn 
together by similarity of tastes. 
The generous rivalry and mutual 
encouragement of young men cast 
together yield advantages so great, 
that hardly any eminence in a 
public instructor, or only one of 
a very rare order, can compete with 
them or supply the want of them. 
Each student finds out his own 
deficiencies fair more readily by 
comparing himself with his equals 
in age and companions than by 
that narrower amount of inter- 
cjourse which alone he can have 
with his teacher. He better learns, 
also, wh^t is attainable by him, 
and is excited to aspire ; nor is it 
so easy for a youn^ man of superior 
mind to be proud of his advances 



and satisfied with them in presence 
of numerous equals in age, among' 
whom he is sure to find many equals 
in talent. In many cases also 
friendships are formed between 
those who are of like attainments, 
and study is pursued in company ; 
whereby they not merely stimulate, 
but to a great extent actually 
instruct each other. It may even 
be added that they conduce to 
the improvement of their public 
teachers. The celebrated Niebuhr 
is said on one occasion to have 
addressed his class with the words :• 
* You are my wings.* In a Univer- 
sity which is thronged by numbers, 
zealous learners, it is to be ex- 
pected, will be proportionately 
more numerous ; and the teacher 
will more cheerfully undergo new 
labours for the sake of his class,, 
under a sense that his exertions^ 
have a greater result. In fact, it 
is in such a case easier to get 
eminent men in each department 
to accept the appointments. It is 
an error to suppose that large 
salaries are everything, and that 
mere money- power will assuredly 
command able teachers. Money 
undoubtedly will do much ; talente 
it will generally command, but 
certainly not genius ; and the best 
talents are apt to stagnate and 
pine in a place too cramped for 
them. Eminent teachers hate a 
post which, being well paid and 
ill attended, bears too much the- 
aspect of a sinecure. For all 
these reasons it is of importance 
to the tuition itself that the classes 
be fally attended ; then no small and 
isolated institutions will permanently 
be able to rival large institutions 
equally well conducted. 

Besides this, the heal associations 
of a great and especially an ancient 
University give it peculiar advan- 
tages. They bestow a dignity on 
the ruling body, as the inheritors 
of authority revered far and wide, 
which aids in upholding such rules 
of discipline as general good order 



278 



On National Universities, 



[Septe 



or the interests of science demand. 
The pnpils, from their first arrival, 
feel that they not merely are coming 
to receive certain advantages of 
teaching, but that they are about to 
be admitted as members of a great 
Society, to which, for all the rest 
of their lives, it will gratify them 
to have belonged. Under judicious 
restrictions, such as repress the de- 
velopment of haughty feelings to 
those without the University, there 
is a value in the corporate spirit of 
an academical body. As it is to be 
desired that each of us should be 
proud of his country, great as are 
the abuses to which the principle of 
patriotism is liable, so it is de- 
cidedly to be wished that every 
student should be proud of the in- 
stitution of which he forms a 
humble part ; should appropriate 
its honours as his own ; should see 
on its walls the portraits of men 
who have adorned it either in a 
directly scholastic line or more 
generally in civil life. If security 
is taken that the new generations 
shall be unable to repose in indo- 
lence on the credit won by their 
predecessors, it will be exceedingly 
conducive to the general interests 
of the institution that the connec- 
tion of the present with the past 
should be distinctly felt. It need 
hardly be mentioned that the pos- 
session of Academical Buildings, 
which have from age to age been 
appropriated to the same objects, 
eminently assists this feeling, as 
well to actual students as to those 
who have long since passed off from 
the University into the great world 
without. When the man of busi- 
ness or letters, the country gentle- 
man or peer, in later life revisits 
the halls and rooms in which his 
academical years were spent, al- 
though nearly all his contempo- 
raries may have left those abodes, 
he recognises an entire identity in 
the place itself, and feels that the 
institution is the same. On this 
peculiarly depends the permanent 



interest felt in an institutic 
old pupils. It is important 
every student should feel 
merely that he is connected 
one or two teachers — in which 
as soon as they have left the ] 
his sympathy with it may dec 
but that he is connected w^ 
great and continuous Institi 
and through it with hundre 
thousands of great men who 
there laid the foundations of 
future eminence. Thus, wit' 
progress of time, the influenc 
ability of a University contini 
accumulate ; and if it be true 
calling, its public services w 
proportionably greater. 

There is another national 
not to be omitted, in great 
cational establishments wher 
youth of all parties may free! 
— namely, it gives them one 
point of united sympathy, and 
to soften the asperities of \ 
opposition. It has been obs 
that no free constitutions cai 
long, unless the contending f a< 
which are certain to arise have 
interests in common, about ^ 
there can be no controversy, 
have been among ourselves 
prerogative of the Crown an( 
vileges of the House of Peers ; 
was the existence of an Estab 
Church. Yet more strong an( 
manent, though less talked 
the influence of property, an 
consequent dread of convulsio 
which its loss may be risked, 
it can hardly be doubted thi 
common sympathies imbibed i 
Universities by the two greai 
ties who, ever since the grea 
volution, have divided the 
nistration of the British Ei 
have exceedingly tended to i 
the extremes of faction. Pc 
this now belongs to the past 
reason of the growth of our i 
—our Universities having a 
while ceased to grow — ^large n 
of the community have bee 
eluded from them who are 



1875] 



On National Unwerdtlea. 



279 



to exercise increasing influence on 
national concerns. In a general 
and political point of view it does 
appear desirable that the youth of 
the whole nation (so far as pecu- 
niary circumstances permit their 
receiving a prolonged scholastic 
education) should be, as it were, 
fused together in common schools 
of learning, where they will imbibe 
common associations of interest, 
love, and pride. If in public life they 
vmii come into collision, it should 
be as citizens who desire in a dif- 
ferent way to uphold or improve 
national institutions, not as ene- 
mies who are aiming to destroy. 
At present, unhappily, partly 
through religious and partly through 
scientific reasons, a large and highly 
influential portion of the English 
nation is estranged fix)m the na- 
tional Universities. The absence 
of common sympathies hereby dif- 
fosed through a sensible fraction of 
tbe entire nation is an evil which 

• 

w not remedied by any erection of 
new Universities, however desir- 
able, on their own grounds, such 
new institutions might be judged ; 
much less by scattered Colleges, 
feebly united by common examina- 
tions in a distant centre. 

A point of much importance was 
^kly alluded to above, which occa- 
sionally divides the opinion of hus- 
band and wife. It is impossible for 
'nasses of young men to be con- 
^^^ted for the purposes of study, 
'ntnout danger of a lower standard 
of morality becoming current among 
them than could be endured in the 
bosom of families. Young men are 
prone to wink at young men's pe- 
<5nliar excesses. When the mild 
apd sweet influence of mothers and 
sisters is removed, male natures be- 
<Jome uproarious. After close study 
will follow violent exercises; after 
exhausting labour, intemperate eat- 
ing and drinking ; and if drunken- 
ness can be tolerated, we have no 
security whatever against worse 
debasements. Certainly our own 



Universities, and many of those 
on the Continent, have been or are 
so bad, in every moral point of 
view, that the whole question most 
justly demands serious enquiry. 
Are Universities necessarily foci of 
immorality to young men ? Are 
they worse than the mixed world, 
into which most parents must en- 
trust their children at that critical 
age ? If they are so, I must add my 
vote on the side of the Mothers 
against the Fathers, and prefer, for 
the majority, local establishments, 
which will allow the students to 
live at their parents* homes, in spite 
of the great intellectual disadvan- 
tages. But is it true that a Univer- 
sity is necessarily a place of moral 
contagion ? It will doubtless always 
contain immoral members ; so do all 
our towns, our banks, our merchants' 
houses, our factories, our colonies, 
our army and navy. We are not called 
on to maintain that a University 
will ever be a Utopia, but that, 
under ordinarily good management, 
it need not be worse, and may be 
a little better, than the world at 
large. In considering this subject, 
there are one or two facts that ought 
not to be forgotten. Many of us 
have heard and read, if we have not 
known, scandalous aflairs concern- 
ing the youth of Oxford and Cam- 
bridge, more especially in reference 
to the past century; and a traditional 
belief is often founded on this that 
the then prevalent immoralities are 
the standard and almost inevitable 
state of things. But it must be re- 
membered that if the young men 
of the last century were drunken, 
so were their fathers. The coun- 
try squire, and very often the 
rector or parson, in country or 
town, took many a bottle of wine 
or jug of ale too much. Sensual 
excess was the order of the day, 
from the Restoration of Charles II. 
until it was checked by Methodism 
outside the Church and by Evan- 
gelicanism within. It is only within 
living memory that the drunken- 



280 



On NaUonal Unwersities. 



[Sept< 



ness of old men, Fellows of Colleges 
and Clergymen, has been extirpated 
at onr Universities ; and can any- 
one wonder if many youths of the 
same institations ran headlong into 
that vice, and into all those which 
spring out of it ? It was only in 
a degenerate and transitional state 
that the senior members of these 
Universities were so often disreput- 
able persons ; this state is past and 
gone, one would hope for ever. 
The reign of Charles II. evidently 
depraved England terribly. We 
have not yet recovered from the 
mischief of its giving to the Exche- 
quer a direct interest in the drinking 
habits of the nation. 

This is scarcely the occasion to 
discuss the causes or the remedies 
of academic irregularities. It may 
be sufficient to say that there are 
two powerfnl agents for enforcing 
decorous conduct on all, whether 
their principles of virtue be strong 
or weak. The first is an aid with 
which no young men can aiford to 
dispense; TiSLUiely,fiilloccupatio7h. If 
the mind is kept on the stretch by 
various and profitable exercise; if 
relaxation is confined within the 
limits which health requires; we 
have abundant proof in every walk 
of life that common morality is no 
very severe eflfort. But if to this 
be added, we need not say poverty, 
but a purse only moderately filled, 
we have a second great guarantee 
of moral behaviour in those who have 
to keep up the appearance of gen- 
tlemen. One may indulge base de- 
sires in many ways at a very small 
expense ; but systematically to 
follow an immoral course in such a 
way as not to disgust one who re- 
tains any gentlemanly feeling, to 
say nothing of gentlemanly associ- 
ates, is a very e3q)ensive affair. 
Hence, for the general morality of 
a University, two things of chief 
importance are to be exacted, over 
and above the direct influences for 
good which, it may be hoped, will 
proceed from the senior members. 



One is, that no systematic id 
shall be allowed (for which pi 
strong means of disciplin 
essential) ; the other, that 
discouragement should be offe 
parents giving to their soi 
great a command of money 
barriers be set up against th( 
tracting of debts by young 
To the latter end some legii 
help may be needed. If, for ins 
it were enacted that all bills, 
a month old, should be sent in 
University Authorities, and fo 
acknowledged by them ; and t 
tradesman or moneylender 
be able to recover any mon 
debts of longer standing w 
producing such acknowledgei 
this, I apprehend, would go 
extinguish the miseries whic 
from College debts. It woul 
be in every parent's power t 
his son's pecuniary means, 
large fraction of the still sur 
immoi'alities might vanish. 

It must not be forgott 
mothers that a time must com 
their sons will be called to 
trial of manly liberty ; and all 
individual parental wisdom n 
exercised not to expose premi 
to danger those natures whi 
least likely to resist temptati( 
we must not desire to deb 
sons from solid advantages 
because they are to be purchf 
a certain measure of risk. 1 
there are many youths who 
age of nineteen are as able sj 
come forth outof family life (a 
personal morals are concern 
they will become at five-and-t 
For such, a University reside 
in every intellectual sense, \ 
superior to any other system 
Suppose now that, instc 
such bodies as Oxford and 
bridge, separate towns hac 
own Colleges, with the inter 
students should reside at 
parents' homes. For argu 
sake supposing that possib 
consequence would be that 



1875] 



On National UniversUies. 



281 



petty Universities would exist, few 
of which could command public 
influence or win permanent and 
widespread attachment ; could have 
a sufficient number of Professors 
to secure eminence in various 
branches, or fulfil any of those con- 
ditions without which a University 
will never realise its highest idea. 
Nor is this all : but, with the excep- 
tion of a few great towns, it is 
certain that only a small fraction 
of the students would, in practice, 
be able to live at home. The most 
plausible project would be to .fix 
the site of a College close to a rail- 
way station, in order that pupils 
might be able to attend from a dis- 
tance. But unless their parents 
also lived near another station on 
the same line, and within twenty 
miles, the loss of time would be 
sach as to make attendance on 
College lectures very unmanageable. 
Something, indeed, might perhaps 
he done of this sort, to accommo- 
date such parents as were near 
enough to make this arrangement 
expedient ; but, looking at the 
question from a national point of 
▼iew, is it not more important to 
strengthen Universities by keeping 
them few, than to multiply them 
under the hope (which will as- 
suredly be disappointed) that the 
J^ay School system can ever become 
the predominating one, without an 
entire loss of all that characterises 
University influence ? Many per- 
sons are misled by confounding 
High Schools, or Specific Pro- 
&^onal Colleges, with Univer- 
sities. Large towns may with 
great advantage have Day Schools 
or Colleges under superior manage- 
ment in which youths should con- 
tinue till the ago of seventeen or 
eighteen ; but, whatever the excel- 
lence of these institutions, they do 
not hold the place of Universities, 
to which, nevertheless, they are 
Teiy useful — indeed, essential — sub- 
tukaries. In the modern develop- 
ment the age of students at Uni- 



versities is from eighteen or nine- 
teen to twenty- two ; and the pecohar 
spirit of such institutions cannot 
be sustained, if any are allowed to 
be admitted at all who are boys 
and not young men. Instead of 
two Universities, we may now 
need five or six ; but let them be 
on the old scale, not mere Lyceums. 

Among men of business, espe- 
cially j)erhaps in the manufacturing 
districts, there is often a vague 
idea prevalent that there is no 
practical utility in Universities. 
Some think themselves very liberal 
in allowing that the general culti- 
vation of the mind by direct tuition 
may be advantageously continued 
till the age of seventeen or even 
eighteen; but to continue it any 
longer they regard as lost time. 
Professional education, they hold, 
should begin at the age of eighteen ; 
and such education is best carried 
on in the private chamber, in the 
counting-house, in the laboratory, in 
the workshop, in the courts of law, 
or in the open field. And in this 
view they are strongly confirmed 
by a feeling that our old Uni- 
versities are quite a failure. There 
is no use in blinking this argu- 
ment. The nation has great and 
serious complaints to make con- 
cerning the state of our Uni- 
versities; but this is so far from 
proving that such institutions are 
not needed, as to be only one way 
of setting forth their paramount 
importance. 

In the present century it has 
become abundantly and painfiilly 
manifest how a g^at, indnstrioni, 
inventive, and well-principled n€i- 
tion is exposed to severe suflering 
through the ignorance of its rulers. 
Is it necessary to insist on the facts 
which illustrate this? Is it not 
notorious that for seventy years 
after Adam Smith wrote on the 
Wealth of Nations our statesmen 
persisted in denying or ignoring the 
plainest truths which he had de- 
monstrated? The restrictions on 



282 



On National Universities. 



[Sept€ 



trade, with wbich our Statute Book 
overflowed, were an infatuated self- 
infliction of loss and ruin. What is 
to he said of the Game Laws, blight- 
ing cultivation, and of the Land 
Laws, emptying whole regions of 
men ? Our whole commercial code 
has been a mass of barbarism and 
injustice. Our schedules of taxa- 
tion were a scheme of mere blind 
grasping ; the sole principle being 
this, to get as much for the Ex- 
chequer as possible, without any 
regard to the loss inflicted on the 
people or the demoralisation directly 
or indirectly caused. No doubt our 
leading statesmen were acquainted 
with this ; but the mass of the aris- 
tocracy were in the dark — were 
prejudiced and densely ignorant — 
and the leaders did not dare to out- 
step their followers too fast. And 
why have our aristocracy been so 
lamentably misled ? Plainly be- 
cause their political education was 
utterly neglected ; and, in fact, in 
the Universities which they fre- 
quented the pervading influences 
were directed to confirm error and 
to repress the dissemination of 
practical science that affects the 
moral and political welfare of man. 
This is but one case ; yet it is a 
most weighty one in the present 
connection ; for there is no moral 
and political science so demonstrative 
ss Political Economy; none which 
is so adapted to University teach- 
ing. Look at the scandalous fact 
concerning the currency. Sir Ro- 
bert Peel (under the influence, it is 
supposed, of Lord Overstone) in- 
duced the House of Commons to 
pass, in 1844, & ^'<)i7 gratuitous 
Bank Act, which, every time it has 
oome into operation, has had to be 
suspended because of the great 
mischief it caused by crippling the 
free action of the only Bank which 
all England trusts. This Act has 
been condemned by all the first 
authorities in Political Economy; 
it stands on the Statute Book simply 
because, of the whole House of 



Commons, scarcely half-a-' 
members dare to avow that 
understand the topic of Curi 
So ill are public men still edu< 
It has been doubted by some wl 
Politics can ever become a Sci 
and unquestionably in its ap 
tions it so needs the aid of pra 
experience that no very youn^ 
can be a good politician, thou| 
may be a good chemist or a 
astronomer. But Political Eco 
in this respect is like Chemis 
Astronomy. The laws of the X 
are peculiarly uniform in thei 
ing. In application the S< 
makes certain hypotheses conce 
fact, no doubt, as must alwa 
the case ; but it is not more di 
to ascertain whether the hypo 
are really verified than in a cj 
practical Mechanics. There is, 
no excuse for a University no 
ceeding in teaching Political 
nomy. It is a study to whi 
young men of University ag 
perfectly competent ; a study 
leaves the same full convicti 
the mind, as to all its main C( 
sions, which can be gained 
Chemistry or Mechanics ; a 
which, once learned in youth, j 
in the mind for ever. This n 
then, has a clear cause of com 
that it has been subjected to i 
suffering and countless loss ( 
nothing of indirect evil re 
through the want of educat 
its rulers; and the evil mi 
traced home to the fault c 
national Universities, and the 
competence to the task whicl: 
have undertaken. 

In this remark we do not 
the meritorious exertions whicl 
been made, and are still ma 
an energetic minority in Oxfo: 
Cambridge. Their progress in 
years is such as no one coulc 
anticipated, in enlarging the si 
in giving new life to the Prol 
ships, in reducing sinecures, 1 
relaxing the stiffness of a 
regulations. But, with all pr 



1875] 



Oyi National Universities. 



283 



the reformers, the reform manifestly 
comes cruelly late in time, and can- 
not overtake the necessities of the 
day. Not to rest too much on a 
single study, let us advert to several 
forms of mischief entailed on us by 
false notions or negligence of Con- 
stitutional Law and natural rights as 
to Land and Water — matters quite 
vital in every State. 

It does not need scholastic science 
to teach certain elements of Politics 
any more than to teach Morals ; but 
each needs inculcation . If the young 
are allowed to see immorality preva- 
lent without rebuke, it seems to them 
the natural and necessary course of 
the world. So if political neglects 
pass unrebuked, these too fail to 
touch the political conscience. It 
is no matter of doubt, whether we 
need local government, whether 
towns can be healthy without strict 
enforcement of sanitary law, whether 
local revenues ought to be husbanded 
and local taxation made just. Yet 
for perhaps a century many of our 
greatest towns were left without 
municipal constitutions, and the old 
mnnicipalities were deliberately 
allowea to sink into a most corrupt 
form, and become a sort of family 
heirloom by the self-election (that 
is, by the co-optation) of a local clique. 
For more than a century and a half 
it might literally have been sup- 
posed that municipal authority was 
a mere invention for controlling the 
Pta-liamentary elections, so that w here 
there was no election to Parliament 
it was not wanted. Surely it be- 
longs to the very rudiments of 
Political Science to know that a 
dense population needs an anxious, 
active, ever-present administration 
to defend the rights of the public 
against the perpetual encroachments 
of individual cupidity ; to claim or 
bny up the town land, and dictate 
everything needful concerning the 
buildings and the disposal of refuse, 
so that neither the air nor the water 
shall be poisoned. Otherwise, all 
those national rights are ravished 



from the poor which they would 
have possessed in a wholly savage 
condition, and free citizens are made 
lower than barbarians. But to the 
politicians in the reigns of our 
Georges what did it signify that 
new and vast towns grew up at 
random, with no restriction on un- 
wholesome dwellings and pollution 
of the streams ? Sickness, genera) 
weakness, premature death, orphan* 
hood, indigence, prostitution, widow* 
hood — in short, all misery — folio wed ^ 
unnoticed by the State. Even now, 
near forty years since the Act for 
reforming the Municipalities, we 
inherit the consequences of this 
monstrous neglect, and of other 
malversations : the population is 
degenerate. Moreover, when, after 
the legal reform, a cry arose for 
healthier towns, a ' sanitary ' self* 
appointed clique, confident of its 
own wisdom, diverted the move- 
ment into a most noxious channel ; 
persuading Parliament (in 1848) 
not merely to legalise the pollution 
of the natural streams, but to make 
this odious practice compulsory. In 
London the evil was of very old 
standing below the point where the 
Fleet Ditch emptied itself into the 
Thames. It was enormously aggra* 
vated, when gas was invented, by 
the lawlessness of the Gas Company, 
which (about 1816) so defiled the 
river that salmon could not come 
up it at all. After 1848 it was 
systematically defiled by command 
of Parliament, until Parliament 
itself was almost poisoned. Then 
at last came reaction ; but, as Dr. 
Bumsey — himself a sanitary au- 
thority — informed the Social Science 
Association in 1868, these sanitary 
gentlemen have made the problem 
of the Health of Townsmore difficult 
than they found it twenty years 
earlier, and have poisoned the villages 
too, which of old were healthy. 

Nor can it be pretended that the 
study of History in our Universities 
has been conducted in such a way 
as to impress on the gentry and 



284 



On National Universities, 



[September 



clergy any of those great lessons 
which it is so eminently calculated 
to impart. Such are the following, 
which the lamented Arnold of 
Rugby ardently desired to enforce 
on all who came within his in- 
fluence : That widespread discon- 
tent tlirough the mass of a nation 
is an unfailing proof that there is, 
or has been, gross misgovemment ; 
that the injustice of class to class is 
uniformly punished by factions and 
resentments, by national weakness, 
or by the ultimate depression of 
the unjust party ; that slavery is a 
self-ruining abomination ; tliat pau- 
perism is an odious national disease, 
not an institution to be acquiesced 
in; that when new classes spring 
up in the growth of society, it is a 
positive injustice not to enlarge the 
national institutions for their recep- 
tion ; that power which exists for 
itself alone has in it the seeds of 
its own destruction, while power 
which is exerted for general benefit 
is sure to grow stronger and 
stronger ; that exclusiveness is jus- 
tifiable, if at all, only in exceptional 
and temporary cases, and then, only 
for the general safety; that our 
perpetual duty is to improve our 
institutions, not tamely and literally 
to * keep things as they are,' but 
to elevate them with our own ad- 
vancing moi-ality ; and when every 
element of society is altering its 
forms, earnestly to remember that 
mir organic growths aught to grow. 
On the contrary, to this day there 
remains in our whole aristocracy a 
horror of * organic change.' That 
which ought to be ordinary, yearly, 
and so gradual as to be almost 
insensible, is postponed as long as 



possible, so that at last it becomes 
convulsive ; from which, as from 
the damming up of a mighty river, 
one must expect a dangerous flood. 
Even our mercantile classes, not 
excluding those who were called 
the Manchester School, have pre- 
valently forgotten healthy tradi- 
tions of common law concerning 
the purity of the streams and public 
rights in land, and popularly speak 
of property in land as identical 
in nature with property in mov- 
ables. Facility of transfer, as of 
Bank Stock, is their great desire : 
few seem aware that town-land 
ought only exceptionally to be in 
private hands, and that the vast 
increase of rent on building-land 
ought to be reserved as a fund for 
general benefit. Thought, know- 
ledge, experience, on all these 
matters are very old, and close at 
hand to all who seek them ; yet our 
legislators and public men, who 
nearly all in the days of worst neg- 
lect were reared at our old Univer- 
sities, have been deplorably ig- 
norant or reckless ; evidently, be- 
cause neither the truth nor their 
own responsibility was ever in- 
culcated upon them. 

This remark points to the con- 
clusion that the Curriculum of our 
Universities has been grievously 
deficient; has continued in the 
aristocratic and sacerdotal groove 
long after the era at which the 
Universities had become the train- 
ing-school for statesmen, for whom 
imperial institutions were needed. 
Tliis opens a separate question, 
concerning the Curriculum, grave 
enough and difficult enough to be 
reserved for a second article. 

F. W. Newman. 




1875] 



285 



OLD ENGLISH METRICAL ROMANCES. 
By J. \V. Hales, M.A. 



11HE word Romance denoted ori- 
ginally any one of the various 
forms assumed by the Latin lan- 
guage towards the close of the Dark 
Ages, so called, in those provinces 
of Western Europe upon which the 
influence of Rome had been most 
deeply impressed. The ancient 
Hispania and Gallia had resigned 
themselves altogether to Roman 
culture ; their barbarian eyes had 
been dazzled by the splendour of 
their imperial conquerors ; they 
eagerly forsook the language of their 
race, and endeavoured to adopt that 
of Italy. The word Romance is 
still used in a certain district of 
Switzerland to denote a Latin- 
descended speech. In process of 
time this word came to be applied 
especially to the Roman dialect 
spoken in France, perhaps because 
the earliest cultivation of a modern 
language for literary purposes would 
seem to have been attempted there, 
and must have rendered the tongue 
of that land famous throughout the 
contiguous countries ; also because 
the central position of France with 
regard to England, Italy, and Spain 
must have made its speech more 
generally known than that of any 
one of the other Roman-speaking 
provinces. Thus French became 
pre-eminently the Romance. When 
Northern Fi'ance, some two centuries 
after the settlement of the Normans 
upon its coast, began to show signs 
of a higher life than that of mere 
predation and turbulence, then the 
term Romance acquired a new 
meaning. It was applied to the 
poetical offspring of that higher 
life — to a sort of rude narrative 
poem picturing the life and the spi- 
rit that were dear to the Northern- 
French people at that time. Such 
a poem was called a Romance. 
Presently such stories as were told 



by such poems were narrated in 
prose. Then prose works too were 
styled Romances. Such are the 
derivation and the earliest literary 
signiOcance of the word Romance. 

Vaiious theories have been enter- 
tained as to the origin of this literary 
form. Scholars have referred it to 
the Arabians in Spain, to the Scan- 
dinavians, to the Classical writers, to 
the Britons of Brittany. We do not 
cacre now to weigh the comparative 
merits of these several views, or to 
point out their superfluousness. 
We are content with the significant 
fact that the oldest Romances of 
which we know or can hear any- 
thing were written in Norman- 
French. Whatever earliest Ro- 
mances are found elsewhere are but 
translations of Norman- French ones. 
The first themes that were sung of 
by the Romancers of Spain and of 
Germany were themes that had been 
previously handled by the Trouveres. 
The epical life of modem Europe 
first quickened amongst a Norman- 
French speaking people — that is to 
say, in Northern France and in Eng- 
land. Each member of that great 
Teutonic family which reformed 
and revivified Western Europe be- 
tween the fifth and the twelfth 
centuries was possessed of its own 
rich store of traditions — of the seeds, 
and much more than the seeds, of a 
national Epopeia ; each member of 
it had its share of the rich imagi- 
nation that constituted the most 
magnificent heritage of the race; 
each member did, in course of time, 
produce great works not unworthy 
of its spiritual lineage ; but the one 
member which gave the first signs 
that epic poetry was not dead and 
buried for ever, which produced the 
earliest Iliads and Odysseys of the 
Middle Ages, was that North-bom 
people which had established itself 



286 



Old English Metrical Bomances, 



[September 



in NeuBtria early in the tenth cen- 
tury, and called the seized province 
after its own name. 

These Northmen were charac- 
terised by a spirit of high daring and 
adventure. They had made them- 
selves the terror of all the coasts 
of Western Europe. Charlemagne, 
in his old age — when, as he fondly 
thought, he had accomplished the 
great work of his heart, and sup- 
pressed the marauders who, ever 
since the fall of Rome, had inces- 
santly plagued and confounded the 
western provinces of the broken 
empire — saw strange sails hovering 
about the shores of Southern France, 
and wept, they say, to think that 
the labour of his life threatened 
to prove a mere vanity. Many a 
church had added to its litany the 
agonised appeal, " From the fury of 
the Normans, good Lord, deliver 
us.** For some three centuries 
these Northmen were the imperial 
spirits of Europe. They made 
themselves admired and feared from 
Antioch to Sicily, from Sicily to 
London. They were the life and 
soul of the earlier crusades. They 
were ever in the front of their times, 
both a^ fighters and as scholars. 
Those who fixed their seat in the 
fairest district of Northern France 
were brought there into contact 
with a Keltic people, amongst whom 
the traces of Roman civilisation had 
never been obUterated. This Keltic 
people had indeed been subdued by 
a barbarian inroad some four centu- 
ries before the Normans overran 
Neustria ; but these barbarians had 
not settled amongst them in over- 
whelming numbers, nor had they 
been able to resist the contagion of 
a superior civilisation. The native 
Kelts, themselves thoroughly Ro- 
manised, in the end Romanised 
their Frankish masters. With this 
amalgamated nation the Normans 
were brought into contact. With 
a facility characteristic of their race, 
they submitted themselves to its 
influence. They, too, as the Franks 



before them, adopted the Roman 
tongue ; and in no long time these 
splendid pupils surpassed their 
teachers in the ease and power with 
which they wielded the language 
thus taught them. They adopted 
also the legends of the two races 
who formed the population of 
Northern France ; and in no long 
time sung or told those alien tales 
with a force and a beauty never 
dreamt of by their original posses- 
sors. 

Li the latter half of the eleventh 
century the heart of Christendom 
was filled with that wonderful 
enthusiasm, whose fruit was the 
Crusades. We need not speak now 
of the follies and the crimes which 
sooner or later marked these wars, 
or of the deadly spirit of intolerance 
which grew out of them and smote 
the countries that waged them like 
some revengeful pestilence. These 
were the hideous children bom of 
them ; but far other was the spirit 
in which they were conceived. They 
were the first wars waged by Europe 
in any higher spirit than that of 
mere piracy and plunder — the first 
with any nobler motive than mere 
acquisition and conquest. More- 
over, they were the first wars in 
which the idea of a grand Christian 
confederacy was in any sort em- 
bodied. It could not be but that 
the intellectual spirit of Europe was 
stirred and ennobled by these more 
eenerous impulses. It was kindled 
mto a higher excitement and energy 
than it had before known ; it felt 
pulsations that were new and 
strange : and then, at last, it spake 
with its tongue. 

We have said that the Normans 
were ever foremost in these wars, 
and that their life previous to them 
had abounded with adventurous 
enterprises. It had been of a kind 
to warm and inflame the imagina- 
tion with its retrospect. Then, 
shortly before the Crusades, a 
famous Duke had won himself a 
crown — ^the crown of England. 



1875] 



Old English Metrical Romances, 



287 



What wonder if at this time poetry- 
sprang up amongst them ? They 
had gathered together vast stores 
of legends, both of their own and 
originally belonging to others with 
whom they had been brought into 
association; they had gained ex- 
perience far and wide ; they, if any 
people, could look back upon their 
career with eyes of elation and 
triumph; they in a special degree 
were inspired and excited by the 
powerful sentiment which sent forth 
the bravest sons of the West to 
fight and fall in the mysterious far- 
away East. 

What are called Romances began, 
probably, to be produced after some 
rashion even in the eleventh century. 
Even then, probably enough, there 
was current some kind of rude me- 
trical legends — of Bollo and other 
old Norman heroes, many a one far 
older than Bollo. Certainly, Charle- 
ma^e and his Paladins were already 
in tiiat century the themes of song ; 
for we are told that at the battle of 
Senlac, commonly called Hastings, 
Taillefer, who was said to have been 
a minstrel knight, — a warrior poet 
such as was Richard Coeur de Leon 
in after days — advanced to the 
charge singing a song of Roland. 
In the course of the following cen- 
tury — in the twelfth century — when 
all those motive powers we have 
mentioned above acted upon the 
Norman mind with their full force, 
then the age of romances fully 
dawned. In or about the year 1 1 38 
appeared that great original store- 
house of Arthurian legend — a store- 
house built in part at least of 
Sinuine British fable — Geoffrey of 
onmouth's History of the Britons, 
The corresponding source of infor- 
mation regarding Charlemagne — 
Turpin's life of that famous monarch 
— ^was no long time afber circulating 
in France. Additional legendary 
treasures were being brought back 
from foreign countries by the 
cmaaders. ^y the dose of the 
twelfth eentttry Norman - French 

TOii» xn.-^iro. liXix, vxw series. 



romance was in fall flower. Dur- 
ing the thirteenth it continued 
to bloom and blossom. It was in 
that same century, we may re- 
member, that Gothic architecture 
attained its most exquisite develop- 
ment. The ostentatious strength 
and solidity of the Norman style were 
then completely superseded by the 
grace and refinement of the Early- 
Pointed. The cathedrals of Notre 
Dame, of Amiens, of Salisbury, of 
Westminster, rose into being in all 
their ineffable loveliness just at 
the time when the Norman-French 
romances, whose origin we have 
briefly sketched, were enjoying their 
widest popularity. 

In other ways, besides, that was 
a century of vast movement, both 
here in England and abroad. It was 
a century of great intellectual and 
religious agitations. It witnessea 
the rise of two great orders in the 
Church, who devoted themselves 
to the revival both of piety and of 
erudition. It witnessed a general 
ardour in quest of learning, royal 
recognition of the great seats of 
education by charters granted, the. 
establishment of colleges in conneo- 
tion with these seats by the zeaJ^ 
and munificence of private persons^, 
and an immense thronging from all 
parts of Europe of students eager - 
to partake of the benefits of the 
universities so chartered, so endowed.. 
It was then, in stirring times for 
Europe, that the old romances 
reached their maturity. In our 
own country the thirteenth century 
was made memorable by political 
events of extraordinary importance 
— ^by the passing of the Great 
Charter, by the meeting of the first 
House of Commons, by vigorous,, 
and for a while seemingly success*- 
ful efforts afber an insular unity >. 
and, to mention last because of its 
present interest to us, what comea 
first in chronological order, by the- 
loss of Normandy. The loss of that 
province — the splendid heir-loom 
of our Norman kings — did in h/o^ 



288 



Old Etiglish Metrical Romances, 



[September 



sever the intimate connection be- 
tween this country and France ; for 
the possessions we retained for 
more than two centuries afterwards 
in Guienne were too distant to affect 
our national life as Normandy had af- 
fected it. The complete amalgama- 
tion of the jarring elements which 
made up our nation was greatly 
accelerated and perfected by what 
our ancestors of the time regarded 
as a most bitter misfortune, and 
one to be repaired at the earliest 
opportunity. But we have not now 
ta speak of the general results of 
that great forfeiture. The one re- 
sult which concerns our present 
purpose is the gradual restoration 
to its proper honour and currency 
of the English language, — the rein- 
statement in its due position of the 
English mind. Of all the barbarian 
peoples which demolished the Ro- 
man Empire, the one that settled in 
this country was the first to bring 
its native language into a state of 
Hterary culture ; the earliest verna- 
cular Teutonic Christian poet was 
Caedmon, an Englishman ; the first 
prince who cultivated a so-called 
barbarian language, and fostered a 
vernacular literature, was our Alfred. 
But those bright promises of the 
seventh and following centuries 
were not doomed to be fulfilled. A 
certain blight, partly, it would seem, 
engendered at home, partly brought 
on by external causes, fell upon 
the land. At the time of the Nor- 
man Conquest the intellectual life of 
the English was deplorably feeble, 
^but it was not extinct. During the 
two centuries which ensued, it did 
not go out ; but in process of time it 
gathered new strength. It still beat 
in many a monastery, in many a 
retired country district — on the 
banks of the Severn, in the Cloisters 
of Peterborough. Norman-French 
was the language of the Court and all 
who held on to the skirts of the 
Court; in all high and mighty 
circles Norman-F^nch literature 
was all popular; there. the songs of 



Provence and the infant epics of the 
Langue d'oui, were ever on the lip 
or in the ear ; but beyond the 
courtly precincts the people clung to 
the language of their fore&thers; 
they sang their old songs as in the 
old days ere William landed — songs 
of Alfred, of Athelstane, of Guy, of 
Havelok, and many another old 
English hero : songs not preaerrcd 
to us in their native form, but whose 
faint echoes whoso will may hear, 
as he pores over the pages of William 
of Malmesbury and other Latin 
Chronicle writers ; in a word, they 
adhered steadfastly, with a tenacity 
said to be charactemtic, to the 
tongue and the traditions of their 
race. In the course of years these 
persistent natives grew bolder ; they 
even ventured to apply their lan- 
guage to satirical uses ; one of the 
earliest English lyrics written after 
the Norman Conquest now extant, is 
a song writtenevidently by a partisan 
of Simon de Montfort in derision of 
the king and his brother and his son, 
whom that great earl had recently 
defeated at Lewes. But we cannot 
now relate in detail how the English 
language, so long dethroned, so to 
say, and driven into banishment, at 
last returned from exile and regained 
its old dominion. That long period 
of its suppression had produced 
many changes in it ; it had altered 
its accent in many respects ; it had 
profoundly modified its word-forms; 
it had strangely extended its vo- 
cabnlary. In fact, that period of 
suppression ended not so much in 
the total overthrow and ejection 
of the suppressor, as in a cer- 
tain reconciliation with him — 
in a certain acknowledgment and 
confession of his claims and pre- 
rogatives : it ended as the straggle 
of the races who spoke the two oon- 
tendiQg languages ended— in a sort 
of fusion, the English tongue pre- 
dominant and supreme. 

Towards the close, probably, of 
that memorable thirteenth oentoxy, 
the Norman-French Romaacesbegtii 



1875] 



Old Hjiiglish Metrical Eomances, 



289 



to be translated into English. A 
large society, to which the Norman- 
French was but dimly intelligible, 
had by that time grown into sufficient 
importance to call for attention from 
the intellectual- food purveyors of 
the age. It too had its thirsts that 
from the soul did rise. For it the 
one favourite literary form of the 
' Early Middle Ages was now adapted : 
the already current Norman-French 
romances were Englished. And now 
at last came the day of what are 
called Early English Metrical Ro- 
mances. 

The greatest prosperity of these 
English Romances — their most 
sovereign popularity and acceptance 
— belongs to the reigns of Edward 
the Second and his famous son. It 
synchronises therefore with the 
brightest age of Chivalry in England. 
It synchronises also with the later 
years of Dante and the lives of 
Petrarch and Boccaccio ; in Italy a 
fuller, maturer literature was aris- 
ing (in light, presently to shine 
stronger, reflected from the old 
classical world) when the Romance 
was reaching its greatest glory in 
England. 

In the fourteenth century then 
these Romances were the great 
reading, or rather hearing, of Eng- 
lish men. They reflected in some 
sort the life of the time, and the life 
of the time delighted to observe its 
mirrored image in them. They 
formed a great part of such libra- 
ries as there then were, they were 
recited or sung at all great festivals 
— as, for example, at the banquets 
that concluded jousts and tourna- 
ments ; they inflamed the courage of 
campaigning knights; they occupied 
the minds and the fingers of the fair 
ladies who sat at home, and worked 
in tapestry the stories narrated by 
them. 

They were for the most part 
translations from the Norman- 
French. King Horn is not so, for a 
comparison of it with the French 
poem celebrating that hero seems to 



show that the French poem was 
translated from it, and not it from 
the French poem. King Havelok 
is certainly. Sir Fred Madden 
thinks, an original English work. 
With regard to those — the great 
majority, as we have ^aid — which 
were undoubtedly rendered into 
English from the French, let it be 
noted that the legends on which they 
were founded were by no means 
always of Norman-French origin. 
Sir Guy and Sir Be vis were certainly 
not so. These were indigenous 
English heroes, whom the Norman- 
French Trwivere adopted for his 
themes. Very possibly many of 
the Trotiveres were of English blood, 
and so had treasured in their me- 
mories many an old English tale. It 
is certain that very many of them 
belonged to the Anglo-Norman 
Court, and produced their works 
on English soil. Very many of the 
Norman-French Romances therefore 
were anything but foreign pro- 
ductions. They were bone of our 
bone, and flesh of our flesh, albeit 
they were costumed in no native 
fashion. The English people would 
recognise in them, so soon as the 
dress of them was altered and they 
could be perused, the children of 
their own national or ancestral 
imagination. 

England then in the fourteenth cen- 
tury abounded in Romances in the 
English tongue. No doubt Romances 
in Norman-French would still find 
an audience in a certain rank ; but 
with the country at large the 
vernacular versions found general 
and increasing favour. Arthur and 
all his knights were sung of from 
one end of the land to the other in 
the native Enghsh tongue, and 
so were the other multifarious 
Romance heroes — heroes drawn 
from all the four winds — Alexander, 
Robert of Sicily, Perceval of Galles, 
The Soudan of Babylon, Eglamour 
of Artois, Richard Coeur de Leon, 
Roland, and many another. We 
have not time now to explain how 

X 2 



290 



Old English Metrical Romances, 



[September 



such various personages came to be 
enlisted in one and the same service. 
It must suffice to say that the- 
medieval minstrels were eminently 
catholic in their selection of heroes ; 
they were quite devoid of all his- 
torical sen^e of the difference be- 
tween one 1^ and another ; they 
could not conceive of an age without 
the crown of knighthood : therefore 
all famous men that were or ever 
had been were regarded as knights. 
One old poet, without any profanity 
in his soul, we may be sure, 
describes Pilate as a knight, and 
speaks of his jousting with Jesus. 

Having thus briefly shown under 
what circumstances, at what time, 
and with what origin our old Ro- 
mances first made their appearance, 
we propose now attempting a slight 
sketch of what popularity they en- 
joyed subsequently to the middle of 
the fourteenth century, when their 
popularity was supreme. What we 
wish especially, however shortly, to 
observe, is the influence they have 
had upon our literature, from 
Chaucer's time downwards to Ten- 
nyson. 

Chaucer, bom probably abou 1 1 3 40, 
grew up at a time when, as we have 
seen, the English Romances of 
chivalry were in their prime — when 
they formed the main part of the 
rSpertoire of every minstrel — when 
they constituted the chief intellec- 
tual diet of Squire, and Ejiight, and 
Lady. His youth^l ears must have 
been extremely familiar with them in 
all their tenderness, their prolixity, 
their extravagance, their simplicity, 
and their ignorance. He has left 
us amongst his Canterbury Tales, 
as we shall see, an unmistakable 
evidence of this &miliarity. Chau- 
cer's contemporary, Gower, tells us 
how — 

Mine ear with a good pitance 
Is fed of reading of romance 
Of Idoyne and of Amadas, 
That whilome were in case ; 
And eke of others many a score 
That loved long ere I was bore. 



But it is unnecessary to collect 
instances of this sort. We will 
now turn to that evidence of his 
close acquaintance with the Chival- 
rous Romances which Chaucer lias- 
left us, because that evidence, while 
it shows how widely well known 
the Romances were, shows also that 
a term was threatened to their 
popularity. 

We all remember how, as the 
pilgrims are riding towards Canter- 
bury and telling their tales under 
the direction of mine host of the 
Tabard, the poet himself is called to 
the front, and ordered to take his 
turn. 

Then he begins with a piece- 
which is in fact a most cunning and 
accurate parody of a Romance of 
Chivalry. As has been remarked 
by an editor of Chaucer, * Sir Thopas 
appears to be the beau ideaJ- of a 
knight ; he does everything which 
a knight should do according to the 
most approved plan. Even the 
forest through which he rides is a 
"model " forest, in which the most 
incongruous species of birds sport 
and sing ; and nutmegs, cloves, and 
cinnamon grow spontaneously. 
The knight himself, as in duty 
bound, falls on "love-longing;** but 
no earthly beauty being worthy of 
him, he must love an " elf-qneen." 
Then comes the meeting with the 
giant, the challenge, the arming of 
the knight, which is described, even 
to the putting on of his shirt and 
breeches, all conducted, according 
to rule, to the sound of music and 
the recitation of "Romances that 
ben reales." His disdain, after the 
example of Sir Percival, of the 
luxury of bed and his repose under 
the canopy of Heaven, with his 
helmet for a pillow and water from 
the well for his drink, while his 
horse feeds beside liim " on herbes 
fine,** are all indispensable to his 
character.' The piece is written in 
a favourite Romance metre — in the 
metre which with certain modifi- 
cations Sir Walter Scott employed 



1875] 



Old English Metrical Romances. 



291 



in his Mannion. Not only are its 
metre and its i